They ceased talking as the car began to bounce over a very rough road. The driver shifted to second gear and Stan knew they were on a grade. Then the car was put into low gear. The back compartment was filled with the roar of the engine.
Stan sat back and waited. He looked at the radium dial of his wrist watch. They had been on the road over an hour. The road was so rough and the car made so much noise, he could not hear the conversation in the driver’s seat.
Stan pictured in his mind the country they must be in and wondered how deep into the jungle they would go. He had a pocket compass which would help him chart a homeward course if he escaped. He wanted to get away without being seen, not only because it would be the safest way, but also it would give him the upper hand with Munson. The luggage made it almost certain he would be discovered, unless the cars following dropped back and allowed him to jump out.
Stan again opened the lid a crack. The cars behind had moved up closer and the nearest one was less than ten feet behind the coupé. Another hour passed and they still jogged along on a rough road. The car bounced and bumped and slid about until Stan’s elbows and knees were barked from battering against the steel braces which were only thinly covered.
The bumping ceased suddenly and the car moved forward smoothly. It came to a halt and Stan heard voices. He bent forward and opened the lid a few inches. There was a car on each side of the coupé. Stan saw lights flickering and men moving about. Munson spoke from beside the coupé.
“I have to hurry in order to be back at the field in the morning. I’ll get the cases with the papers and we’ll go right in to your office.”
Stan got his legs set under him. He was glad the new cars had so much baggage space. Before he could do anything more, the door to the compartment was hoisted and caught in place. The beam of a flashlight was shining in his face. He heard Munson’s startled grunt as he lunged out of the back of the car, diving straight at the colonel’s mid-section.
Stan and Munson went down with the colonel bellowing and cursing, as he tried to protect himself from Stan’s pumping rights and lefts. The jolting blows freed Stan from Munson and left the colonel doubled up and twisting on the ground, but it also gave the man with the guttural voice a chance to shout commands.
As Stan whirled to leap away toward the shadows beyond the cars, a crowd of little men, naked except for cotton loin cloths, leaped at him from every side. They came at Stan with a rush, their shaven skulls gleaming in the yellow light of smoking flares stuck on poles above a stockade. They did not seem to be armed but there were at least fifty of them.
Stan lowered his head and charged into the rushing line of little yellow men. He hit the line and crashed through the first mass of attackers, bowling them over with fists and elbows and knees. But his progress was stopped as hands gripped at his ankles, his knees and at his clothing. One little fellow leaped upon his back from behind. Three or four laced arms around each of his legs. Stan went down in a flailing pile of evil-smelling bodies. As he fell, he heard the roaring laugh of the man with the guttural voice.