Near him Allan was
huddled, his black face distorted with pain and ashen with
apprehension.
VIII
EL COMANDANTE TAKES A HAND
"Where are we?" queried Anthony, as he took in the surroundings.
"This is the prison, sar."
"Gee! I'm sick." Kirk lay back upon the platform and closed his
eyes. "Did they hurt you much?"
"Oh yes. Very considerably."
"Sorry I got you into it, Allan, I never thought they'd be so
cranky." Again he groaned. "I want a drink."
"Let me get it. Those Spiggoties will not give it to you."
Allan went to the door and called to the guard. An instant later
he returned with a tin cup.
"I guess they knocked me out," Kirk said, dazedly. "I never was
hit like that before--and jailed! Say! We must get out of her.
Call the chief or the man in charge, will you? I can't speak the
language."
"Please, sar, if you h'anger them they will beat us again."
"Beat! Not here?"
"Oh yes. They might kill us."
"They wouldn't do that!"
"A white man they killed lahst h'autumn, and several of my people
have passed away in this prison. Nobody can 'ear nothing. Nobody
knows what 'appens 'ere."
"Oh, well, they wouldn't dare touch us--I'm an American citizen.
I'll notify the consul."
Roused at the mere suggestion.
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