“I Reckon I’ll Play; Show Me the Game.”
“I reckon I’ll play,” admitted Sim, hoarsely. “Show me how the game goes.”
“Keep your hands up, and march, slowly, right on towards the boat,” responded Tom Halstead. “Be ready for the word to halt, and do it the instant you hear me say so. If you try any tricks—but you won’t!”
“No,” promised Sim; “I won’t.”
“March, then—slowly.”
Sim obeyed, also stopping when told. He lay down, with a dismal sigh, crossing his hands behind his back, just as told. From the boat came the sound of remonstrating kicks, the only method of communication that was left to Sim’s own people.
“It may strike you,” suggested Halstead, “that it will be an easy trick to turn and grapple with me when I get my hands on the cord. If you try it you’re pretty likely to find that I’m prepared for you. You won’t have even a fighting chance.”