Sambo, by this time, had gained strength enough to sit up. He was
wondering whether he could rise to his feet and sprint away from this
dangerous little fury of a Mexican.
"Wait, you black cloud!" cried Nicolas. "I will put you down again!"
"Yo' get away from me---please do!" begged Sambo, recoiling in terror.
"Sambo," laughed Tom, "Africa shouldn't have stirred up Mexico as you did.
Now, lie down on your face, place your hands behind you, and I will
persuade him to let you alone."
Sambo hesitated.
"Let me at him, Senor!" begged Nicolas, maneuvering forward, his right hand
ready. "He is _no_ good, I tell you! But I feex him!"
With a yell Sambo Ebony flopped over on his face, placing his hands behind
his back.
"Let him alone, Nicolas, as long as he minds," ordered Reade, catching the
excited Mexican by the collar. "Only, if he shows signs of making trouble
then sail into him fast."
No sign of trouble, however, was there in Sambo. He lay as meek as a lamb
while Tom used a lot of the spare cord in taking sundry hitches around the
negro's wrists.
"I don't believe he'll get out of that," said Reade grimly, "Now, we'll
fix his feet."
This, too, was done, and Sambo lay helpless on the ground.
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