“With guns out,” Jim answered. “It seems queer to me that we were not fired on in the air and we were driven down right here.”
“Even so.” Arto had not thought of that and his gun came out.
“Got many cartridges—”
“You ain’t needin’ em,” a man’s voice drawled so close that the four turned quickly, but it was so dark they could barely see the white blur of his face. It seemed to the castaways that he was not alone and this was immediately verified.
“Touchin’ little scene of home,” said a second voice. “Sort of too bad not to let em finish their love-making.”
“Had to interrupt when they began to talk gats.”
“You guys best be reaching kinda high so your hands won’t get you into no trouble,” he ordered, and the three men raised their arms, while one of their captors relieved them of weapons, wallets, and shells. When that was finished, the first one gathered the things together.
“I’m waiting fer you, General,” he remarked.
“We’ll march ’em to the welcomin’ fire till we get the signal, Admiral,” the “General” answered, and the procession started over a rough way toward the spot they had seen through the mist.
“Guess you was never in such good company before,” the Admiral informed them. “Step easy here, cause there’s a ditch, lady.”