“Guess I’ll stay and t-t-talk to Motu,” says Mark.
I went off alone, though I was a little nervous about it. I headed toward the road and went along about a quarter of a mile when all of a sudden a Japanese stepped out of the bushes into the road and stood in front of me. He just stood and looked at me and scowled.
I didn’t walk past him. I expect I could have if I’d wanted to, but I didn’t want to. I stopped and looked at him and scowled, but his scowl was working better than mine; at any rate, I didn’t notice his knees shaking any. He lifted his arm and pointed back toward the hotel. Not a word did he say, but I gathered what he meant, all right. He was explaining to me politely that he didn’t want me to go any farther. I was obliging about it and turned right around and made for home.
“Mark,” says I when I got there, “we’re prisoners.”
“How?” says he.
“I tried to go for a walk, but a Japanese stopped me.”
“Huh! Don’t want any m-m-messages sent,” says he. “I calc’late we fooled ’em a lot, a whole, whoppin’ lot.... How’d you like to see how far they’ll let you walk the other way?”
“Well,” says I, “this one didn’t bite me, so I guess the next one won’t.” And at that I started out and went in the opposite direction. This time I hadn’t gone a hundred yards before a Japanese got up out of the bushes and herded me back the same as the first one did. We were besieged, all right.
I told Mark about it and he shook his head like he’d known it all the time.
“It don’t prove anythin’,” says he, “except that they think Motu’s here, and dassen’t take chances. They don’t know yet.”