The other retained his grip on Bob’s throat, a cruel pressure that set the blood to pounding in the boy’s temples. Nevertheless, he was thrown off his balance, his body followed Bob’s, bent above him.
The moment he touched the stones, Bob sank to the ground, drew up his legs with a convulsive effort, and then shot his feet upward with a tremendous thrust. He felt his bare feet strike a lightly-clad body. There was a grunt. Then the hands about Bob’s throat were torn loose from their grip, and the attacker went hurtling backward.
There was a thud, a dull groan, as the other struck against the parapet. Bob was tearing frantically at the covering over his head, which was a thick woolen sack. Meantime, he was emitting roar after roar of purest rage.
“Bob, Bob. What is it? Oh.”
CHAPTER XVIII—ARMED AGAIN
It was Frank’s voice, and the exclamation was elicited by Frank catching sight of the figure against the parapet, now struggling to its feet, knife clutched in hand. Frank had been the first to reach his comrade’s side. He did not pause but, unarmed though he was, sprang forward.
Bob pulled the sack from his head, just in time to see Frank’s rush bear the other to his knees. Then the others were on the scene, soldiers with torches, Prince Huaca, Jack and the rest. It was all over in a trice. The man was disarmed and in the hands of two soldiers, each holding him firmly by an arm. He was a stout rascal, with an evil face.
Prince Huaca looked at him keenly.