Bang!
Jarrold had drawn a pistol and was sending bullets after him. Up a dark alley Jack dodged, while behind him he could hear the rush of feet pursuing.
“Goodness, if they ever get me, it’s all off!” gasped the boy.
He darted out of the alley he had been following, doubled up another and heard the rush of feet growing fainter. At last they died out altogether. Apparently his pursuers had given up the chase.
Utterly winded, he leaned against a blank wall to recover his breath. He had no idea what part of the town he was in, but it appeared to be in the native quarter. From the opposite direction he heard men approaching.
By a street lamp he saw that they were two blacks. Both carried bundles. From their dress and walk they appeared to be stokers or firemen on some steamer. Jack stepped up to them and asked them the way to the hotel.
They stared at him a minute, and then one of them said:
“Lawd, boss, we dunno no mo’ ’bout Kingston ’an you do. We’s United States niggers, we is. Not dis Wes’ Injun trash. We b’long on de ’Dimyun.”
Jack gasped.
“On the Endymion?”