“Probably.”
“I’d like to knock those horns down his throat!” Case growled. “He has no right to keep us here. Would the horns grow out again if I should knock ’em off?”
Even in the serious plight the boys were in, Frank could not keep from chuckling at this, for the horns were of wood, and were held in place by being pushed through the flesh from the inside. When this was explained to Case his comment was that he would enjoy having the job of fixing the things on.
“He’d have a sore face for a time,” Case declared, “just like I did when I had my teeth filled. We’ve got to get away from him in some way. “We’ll be murdered if we remain here, and we can only die in an attempt to get back to the Rambler.”
“We may have to make a run for it in time,” Frank answered, “but we may as well wait until we know more about what our capture means. I understand something of the Mura dialect, and will talk with him when I get a chance.”
“Go on and do it now,” urged Case. “I’d like to know what this pretty little scene is all about. What are those Englishmen doing in here, anyway, and what are they muttering about over there by the fire?”
Frank did not reply, for he was asking himself the very same question without finding any answer.
“Perhaps they’re here after your cargo,” suggested Case.
Frank shrugged his shoulders despairingly.
“That may be,” he admitted. “That is what I fear!”