“Exactly; but I’ve known Wing longer than you have. He is a very quiet fellow, but he is full of resource, and being amongst his fellow-countrymen, I think it very doubtful about his having been killed.”
“I only hope you are right,” said Stan; “but there was a desperate fight.”
“No—not desperate. You see that though you were one they looked upon as an enemy they did not kill you, and evidently never intended anything of the kind.”
“Well, no; I don’t think they meant to kill me.”
“I’m sure they did not. If they had, they would have done it. In fact, I hardly know why they took you at all. It seems to me more out of idle recklessness than anything else; a party of rough soldiery with nothing to do, and under very little control. They have some discipline, but it is very slight. It’s a rarity for them to get any pay, even when they are on duty. There seems to have been a detachment hanging about the gate of the city, doing as they pleased, and dependent upon the people coming in to the market for their supplies. They saw you, a stranger, passing the place; and as there was no one to check them, they followed and pounced upon you.”
“But what for?”
“Ah! what for? I can only place one construction upon the act.”
“And what is that?” asked Stan.
“The one you suggested.”
“I? I suggested none.”