“Perhaps you will be, after you get good and hungry,” snarled the other.
“In the first place,” Clay said, “I haven’t got the map. I couldn’t get it for you if I wanted to. The boys wouldn’t give it up.”
“So you admit that you’ve got it?”
“I did have a rough drawing of this country,” was the reply, “but it didn’t seem to mean much to me.”
“That’s the document we want,” the outlaw said, “and the quicker you give it up and get out of this district, the safer your hide will be.”
Before Clay could make any response the man who had set off in pursuit of Alex came wrathfully into the cave. One hand was bleeding profusely, and there was a long cut on his left cheek. His clothing was disarranged, showing every evidence of a physical struggle.
“Where’s the kid, Ben?” was asked.
The man’s reply was a volley of epithets and profanity.
“You never let him get away from you, did you?” asked the other angrily. “You might bring him in in your pocket.”
“You couldn’t bring him in in a dray,” answered Ben. “You might as well try to wrestle with a bumble bee. I got a grip on the little imp’s collar, but before I could do a thing, he had a knife out. And then I got this,” laying a dirty finger on a dirtier hand, “and this,” pointing to the bleeding cheek. “And the next I knew, he was out of sight in the jungle.”