“A little of that goes a long way, young man,” the leader of the party said. “It makes no difference to me what you say, but several of these men understand the English language and can speak it fluently.”
“I presume so,” returned Frank. “I’ve seen just such a collection as that in jail in New York. Say, honest, Captain,” he went on, “if a bunch like this should run up against the strong-arm squad in New York, they’d get their heads beaten off just because of their ugly mugs.”
“Aw, what’s the use!” demanded Harry.
By this time several of the guards were casting ugly glances at Frank, who seemed to regard their disfavor with great joy.
“You’d better come on ahead and walk with me, young fellow,” the leader said, taking Frank roughly by the arm and jerking him to a position in front. “If you get back there where those ugly ones are, they’ll put a couple of bullets into your back and swear that you were trying to escape.”
On his way to the front of the party, Frank passed Jack and paused for a second only to whisper in his ear:
“Now, these ginks will be watching me every minute, waiting for a chance to shoot. You may catch them off their guard directly and when you do, cut and run!”
“So that’s what you did all the talking for?” queried Jack.
“You bet!” answered Frank. “And while you’re running, I’ll do a little sprinting myself.”
“Here, you!” shouted the leader, almost lifting Frank’s feet from the ground as he dragged him away.