"Thank you, Senor. But I stood over that black scoundrel, watching for the slightest move on his part. I had my forefinger ready, and he did not dare move."
"I can quite believe that," agreed Tom, dryly, "after the poke you just gave me."
"Again a thousand pardons, Senor, but in the dark, and awaking so suddenly,
I did not see you or know you."
"I can quite believe that, Nicolas."
"As I was saying, Senor, I was watching over the black man when some one came up behind me—-so softly that I did not hear. But I felt. Ah! What I felt! It was a fist that seemed to break in the top of my head. Down I went, and I heard a voice. I knew that voice, too. So would you have known it, Senor!"
"Whose voice was it?" asked Tom, curiously.
"The voice of Evarts."
"The discharged foreman?"
"Yes, Senor. But I am delaying my story. While Evarts was speaking I heard another sound. At one effort the negro snapped the cords that held him. Ah, he is a powerful brute."
"He is," Tom affirmed solemnly.