“All right, Doniphan,” said Jack. “We’ve got a prisoner.”
The young sailor doing sentry duty in front of the building housing the Chinese coolies regarded them curiously, as they made their way out the pier toward the boat. Robbins, the petty officer left in charge with a half-dozen men felt his responsibility and was on watch on deck. He hailed them, then leaped to the pier. The boys paused, Jack and Bob put down their burden, and briefly Jack related their experiences.
“So you were signallin’, hey?” said Robbins sharply, turning to the young Chinaman whom the boys had taken prisoner.
“He had a powerful electric light bulb hung in the window of the radio station,” explained Jack. “It could be seen a long distance up the canyon.”
“No un’stan’,” said the Chinaman, a look of stolid stupidity coming over his face.
Jack recalled the good English employed when the youth had been called on to surrender.
“Oh, come, now,” he said. “We know better than that. You’re an educated man.”
The Chinaman shrugged. Stupidity gave way to defiance.
“Have it your own way,” he said. “But I won’t tell you a thing.”
Robbins was exasperated. He made a threatening gesture, but Jack laid a hand on his arm.