“I must beg his excellency to go with me to the ramparts.”
“He cannot—will not,” protested Sin Foo.
“He must!” declared Dave Darrin firmly.
[CHAPTER VII—BELLE HAS SOME “TIPS”]
Whatever Sin Foo said, it was spoken in an undertone.
Near his excellency there was movement among the members of his retinue. In another instant the governor had vanished around the angle in the wall.
“Grab that ‘Burnt-face’ chap!” whispered Dave, to two of his sailors. “Hurry him along to the ramparts, but don’t be rough with him unless you have to be.”
Then up to Sin Foo, in the same twinkling, stepped Ensign Darrin.
“Sir, I am sorry, but I haven’t time to waste on formal speech. Since your governor has run away, you must go with me to the ramparts.”
“But I—I am not a fighting man,” protested Sin Foo, turning to a greenish hue, which in a Mongol, is equivalent to turning pale.