But about that time something else happened. Whack! A blow from a club
landed across the negro's head.
"Who doin' dat?" demanded the negro, blinking and half turning.
"I did eet, you miser-r-r-rable black smoke, and I do eet again!" rang
the voice of Nicolas, as that valiant Mexican circled around the negro.
"Yo' blow away, yaller baby!" jeered Sambo, whose head had been not at
all hurt by the blow.
"I show you eel I run away!" bridled up Nicolas.
Tom now began to recover enough to know that his faithful servant was on
the scene.
"Scoot, Nicolas!" urged Tom, in a gasping Voice. "Run for all you're
worth. This fellow will eat you up. Run and bring help."
"Senor, I can wheep him with one hand!" vaunted the little Mexican.
"Run, I tell you, and get help. Be like a flash, man!"
"As you say, Senor, but---"
Nicolas turned, speeding away.
His escape, however, would interfere, possibly, with the plans of Sambo.
The big black leaped up, racing after Nicolas.
As the Mexican was a little fellow, and short of leg, it was not long
before the pursuer caught up with him.
"Hol' on, yo' yaller rascal!" laughed Sambo, reaching out for the Mexican.
Nicolas wheeled about, dancing out of reach of the negro's massive hands.
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