The latter was gagged most cruelly with a stick tied between his jaws. So far had the stick been thrust into the lad’s mouth that the corners were cracked and bleeding. Whistler cut away his friend’s gag first of all.
“The nasty villain!” cried Willum Johnson. “’Ow did ’ee do hit?”
“Are you hurt, George?” demanded Morgan.
“I’m bumped some,” admitted the other American lad. “But I’m hurt most in my dignity,” and he tried to grin.
“The scoundrel cut your lips with that stick,” said Al Torrance. “Where did he go?”
“Ask me something easier. I only know he went—and if he kept on the way he started he’s a long way from here by now.”
“But where are your clothes?” demanded Whistler Morgan.
“What do you think?” cried Belding. “The dirty Heinie is wearing them!”
“Good-night!” gasped Frenchy. “Is it a U. S. sailor he wants to be?”
“Tell us!” commanded Whistler earnestly.