"Why have you a weapon?" asked the young inventor. "I gave orders
that none of the drivers were to carry them."
"A revolver, senor? I have none! I--"
"Rad, reach in his pocket!" cried Tom, and the colored man did so
with a promptness that the other could not frustrate. Eradicate held
aloft a large calibre, automatic weapon.
"What's that for?" asked Tom, virtuously angry.
"I--er--I--" and then, with a hopeless shrug of his shoulders the
man turned away.
"Give him his gun, and get another driver, San Pedro," directed our
hero, and with another shrug of his shoulders the man accepted the
revolver, and walked slowly off. Another driver was not hard to
engage, as several had been hanging about, hoping for employment at
the last minute, and one was quickly chosen.
"It's lucky you saw that gun, Ned," remarked Tom, when they were
actually under way again.
"Yes, I saw the sun shining on it as his coat flapped up. What was
his game, do you suppose?"
"Oh, he might be what they call a 'bad half-breed' down here. I
guess maybe he thought he could lord it over the other drivers when
we got out in the jungle, and maybe take some of their wages away
from them, or have things easier for himself.
Pages:
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93