“Wish I dared strike a match,” he muttered, “but my hand is too shaky—and in this straw. Wal, you’ve no bones broken, old man, I think.”
“I don’t think so,” Wally answered. “Let’s wriggle.” He did so, and it evidently hurt him, for Jim heard the swift intake of his breath. “No, I’m all right,” he said. “How about you?”
“Oh—battered a bit!” said Jim, to whom memory was returning slowly. “Can I help you up, do you think? Great Cæsar, how this place smells!”
He worked an arm under Wally, and helped him to a sitting position—an effort which nearly lost consciousness for them both. They found the wall near, and leaned back against it thankfully, until giddiness subsided. Jim made further discoveries.
“My watch has gone,” he announced. “Nice people! Likewise my money—likewise my coat. How about you?”
“A clean sweep, I think,” Wally said, faintly. “I don’t seem to have anything but my shirt and trousers.”
“That was their game, I expect,” Jim said. “Steady, old man, you’re slipping—slip this way, and lean against my shoulder. They’ve taken all they could get, and I expect they’ve cleared out.”
“You don’t think they’ll have ideas about ransom?” Wally hazarded.
“Not vermin like those—and in a city. No, I’ll bet they’re making for Zululand or wherever they belong, by this time. Eh, but I was a fool!” said Jim, bitterly. “And I thought I knew how to look after myself!”
Wally groaned in sympathy.