“Lemme try him.”
Only with the greatest of difficulty did Nuggy Polk manage to rise to his feet. Then he lurched up against Gilbert, took a plunge, and hit the pony in the ribs. The animal turned, bumped roughly against the young man, and Polk measured his length on the ground.
“Whoa, you rascal!” spluttered the fallen one. “Lieutenant, he’s worse than the team. I can’t ride him nohow.”
At this juncture a rumble of cart wheels was heard, and soon a native turnout hove in sight, drawn by a pair of caribaos. A sleepy Tagal sat on the seat.
Stopping the cart, Gilbert inquired if the Tagal was bound for Manila.
“Si, señor,” answered the man, in Spanish.
“Take me along then,” put in Nuggy Polk. “I’ll pay you well.” And he jingled some coin in his pocket.
The native assented, and, leaping to the ground, he assisted the young man to a seat in the rear of the cart. Here there was some straw, upon which rested several bunches of plantains; and on this straw Nuggy Polk stretched himself, and in a moment more was sound asleep.
“You can take him to the Hotel for American Gentlemen,” said Gilbert. “Do you know the place?”
“Yees, mistair. He has drank much, not so?”