“That’s a point we missed,” remarked Tom to Ned. “And I’m pretty sure Kilborn put up this game on us. As soon as he landed and saw we were here, he bribed these fellows to arrest us. I don’t believe there’s any permit needed at all.”
“Well, what can you do about it?” asked Ned. “They’ve got the upper hand of us.”
Truly it seemed so, for now a squad of native soldiers, ugly and unkempt enough but armed with swords and guns, came swarming around the post-office. One of the two officers who had arrested Tom and Ned took charge of the squad.
“I’m going to buy a permit here and now,” Tom said, with a smile. “There’s no use trying to fight these fellows except with money. Look here,” he went on to Yal. “Tell that officer I’m sorry I didn’t know about a permit, but I’m willing to pay for one now and also pay him for his trouble in getting it, and I’ll pay you for translating this to him.”
At this the eyes of the interpreter sparkled, as did those of the two officers when Tom took out some United States gold pieces. Gold speaks a universal language, and when Tom had clinked the pieces in his hands a few times there was a quick exchange of spitfire language between Yal and the tallest of the two officers. Then Yal said:
“Mebby so he get you a permit for money.”
“Have him try,” said Tom, with a significant smile, as he passed over some of the gold pieces.
The tall officer hurried away while his companion arranged the ragged, dirty soldiers rather in the form of a bodyguard about the two aviators than as a squad sent to arrest them.
“I think everything is going to come out all right,” said Tom to his chum.
It did; for a few minutes later the tall officer, now all smiles, came hurrying back, bearing a paper covered with big red and gold seals. This he handed to Tom while Yal said: