Bob suddenly found himself released, and the robber, with a parting blow that made the boy’s head sing, rolled away from under the bed and took to his heels.
“Help! help! help!” cried Professor Snodgrass, as Bob tried to sit upright, for it was under the bed of the naturalist that the boy had rolled. In straightening up he had tipped the scientist, who, up to this point, had been sleeping soundly on the cot.
“What is it? What has happened? Is it a fire? Has an earthquake occurred? Is the river rising? Has a tidal wave come in? Santa Maria! But what is all the noise about?” cried the landlord, rushing into the courtyard, bearing an ancient lantern. “What has happened, señors? Was your rest disturbed?”
“Was our rest disturbed?” inquired Bob, in as sarcastic a tone as possible under the circumstances. “Well, I would say yes! A band of robbers attacked us.”
“A band of robbers! Santa Maria! Impossible! There are no robbers in Mexico!” and the innkeeper began to chatter volubly in Spanish.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
THE OLD MEXICAN.
“Well, if they weren’t robbers they were a first-class imitation,” responded Bob. “There’s Jerry and Ned knocked out, at any rate, and they nearly did for me. They would have, only I bit the chap’s ear. I guess I’ll know him again; he has my mark on him.”
“Bit his ear! The Americano is brave! But we must see to the poor unfortunate señors! Robbers! Impossible!”