“But Jack,” Biff said, “we’re not just going to sit here, are we? Can’t we do something? Can’t we go into China and find Uncle Charlie?”
“Go into China? Impossible. You get any such idea out of your head.”
That idea, though, was very much in Biff’s head. The idea had been growing from the moment he first heard of his uncle’s disappearance.
“I mean that,” Jack said. “You have no idea of the difficulty in crossing the border. It’s patroled night and day. And the border guards shoot to kill.”
Man and boy sat in silence, both deep in thought. The silence was suddenly broken. A native boy about Biff’s age, but smaller, came running into the room.
“Sahib Jack! Come on run! Come on run! Quick! Quick!” He ran out of the room.
Biff and Jack were at his heels.
CHAPTER VII
A “Spirited” Box
The native boy raced across the open compound toward the group of low buildings where the servants slept. Jack and Biff ran side by side, ten feet behind the boy.
“What is it, Chuba? What is it?” Jack called. But the boy didn’t answer until he reached the door of one of the small white cabins. There he stopped, gasping for breath, and turned to Jack and Biff. His face was contorted with fear; his eyes were opened wide and filled with terror.