As the hangings fell behind the last to leave, the guide, whom later they came to know as Matt Murphy, turned to them, his face grim enough.
“Ye showed sense,” he said. “They’d ha’ killed ye.”
Stooping over “Black George” he examined him hastily. Then he did the same by Wong Ho.
“Here,” he said to the two Chinese attendants, “one of you get Doctor Marley at once. The other help me.”
With the man who sprang to his aid, Murphy started to lift the unconscious form of “Black George.” Then he bethought him of his prisoners, and addressed Mr. Temple.
“Stay in this room,” he said, “and I can protect ye. The only way out is the way you come, an’ nothin’ could save ye from these yellow devils if ye get started. I’ll be back.”
Without more ado, he and his silent assistant disappeared with their burden, returning almost at once for the still unconscious Wong Ho.
After his second departure the three boys and Mr. Temple were left undisturbed for a long period. Their first act was to take account of injuries. Frank and Jack had come off unscathed. Bob was sore about the shins from kicks delivered by “Black George,” but otherwise unhurt. Mr. Temple’s kick in the stomach had been the most serious injury received, but he was rapidly recovering.
“I’m not blaming you boys for your gallant attempt to win freedom,” said Mr. Temple, “but our position now could hardly be worse.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, if you think I made matters