"I wonder whether I'm a tremendously big fool, or whether I'm merely unfortunate?" thought Hal bitterly. "However, how was I to guess? In this Moro country must it be considered unsafe even to step into a store and look at the merchandise?"
There was no answer to this. By degrees Hal began to feel decidedly uncomfortable as to the fate that he might expect.
"If they meant only to rob me," he reflected, "then why didn't they proceed at once? But not a single brown rascal of the lot took the trouble to thrust an exploring hand into my pockets. What, then? Do they want an Army prisoner, and if so, for what?"
The longer the young soldier thought it over, the greater the puzzle became. Nor did it escape his imagination that possibly he was not to be allowed ever to see his comrades again. That thought, of course, sent a chill of horror chasing up and down young Overton's spine. He was not afraid to die in battle, if need be—but to be treated like a rat in a trap—that was different.
"Well, they've got me, and I don't see any likelihood of getting away," decided Hal at last, after fully an hour devoted largely to futile efforts to wriggle out of the bonds that held his wrists secure behind his back. "These knots have been tied by masters. I don't believe I could get out of them in hours. If they had only tied my hands in front of me, so that I could work them loose. Confound the pirates!"
After what seemed like the passage of hours, the boy heard a slight sound. Listening intently, he heard it repeated.
Next a light was turned on—from the same dark lantern.
Behind the light Hal's dazzled eyes could make out the figure of a man.
Toward him the light came, Hal blinking in the glare until the newcomer halted beside him.
"Ah, Señor Sergente!" cried a mocking voice.