Their uneasiness on Spottie's account, however, was at that instant set at rest by the precipitate appearance on the scene of Spottie himself. Seeing his masters charge the crowd on the bulls' backs, he had extricated himself from the crush, and followed them with all possible speed.
“Dey coming, sar!” he panted, as he ran up, “Lascar debil done fetching plenty black man!”
And there swelled up from the street below a tumult of voices that left no doubt as to the accuracy of his statement.
CHAPTER VII.—“FUN OR FIGHTING, I'M READY, ANYHOW!”
Dey coming, sar!” groaned Spottie; and even as he spoke the leaders of the mob came tearing round the corner.
“Is it fight or run, Don?” said Jack quietly, adjusting his turban with one hand and laying the other significantly upon his knife.
“No two ways about that! We could never stand against such odds; so we'll run first and fight afterwards.”
“And reverse the old saying, eh?” laughed Jack. “I should dearly love to have a whack at them; but if you say run, why—run it is, so here goes!”