Above the excited shouting of the prisoners he heard Niva’s voice, coming from the hut.
“I am here, inside the hut!”
Stan plunged around the hut looking for a door or window. “Niva! Where’s the door?” he shouted.
“Here is a window!” Niva called.
Stan located the window and saw her face, an oval of white against a black background. His hand felt green bamboo bars. Gripping them he planted a knee against the flimsy wall and yanked. The bars and a large part of the wall pulled away. Stan tossed aside the section he had pulled loose and caught the girl’s wrist.
“Come on! We have to get out of here before they get another light.” Half dragging, half carrying the girl he charged toward the wall. His head was down and he smashed aside the natives who got in his way.
At the wall Niva held back. “We ought to help them escape,” she cried.
“We’ll be lucky to get out ourselves,” Stan said as he lifted her to the top of the wall. “But I’ll have a try.”
Niva disappeared beyond the wall and Stan leaped up. He was poised for a leap when a rifle flamed close to where Niva stood on the ground below. A bullet screamed past Stan’s head. He dived toward the flash of light from the gun.