s pockets the big fellow brought out a coil of stout cord. Without
much trouble he slipped a noose over one of Tom's wrists. Then began an
active fight, the object of which, on the black man's part, was to make the
other wrist secure.

But here Tom developed an amount of agility and a skill in fighting that
angered Sambo.

"Doggone yo', ef yo' won't take it peaceable-like, den yo'll get it do
odder way."

With that, Sambo delivered a blow that made young Reade see stars. His
head swam dizzily. Now, the black man secured the other wrist, making a
turn and a knot that would have done credit to an expert.

But about that time something else happened. Whack! A blow from a club
landed across the negro's head.

"Who doin' dat?" demanded the negro, blinking and half turning.

"I did eet, you miser-r-r-rable black smoke, and I do eet again!" rang
the voice of Nicolas, as that valiant Mexican circled around the negro.

"Yo' blow away, yaller baby!" jeered Sambo, whose head had been not at
all hurt by the blow.

"I show you eel I run away!" bridled up Nicolas.

Tom now began to recover enough to know that his faithful servant was on
the scene.

"Scoot, Nicolas!" urged Tom, in a gasping Voice. "Run for all you're
worth. This fellow will eat you up. Run and bring help."

"Senor, I can wheep him with one hand!" vaunted the little Mexican.

"Run, I tell you, and get help. Be like a flash, man!"

"As you say, Senor, but---"

Nicolas turned, speeding away.

His escape, however, would interfere, possibly, with the plans of Sambo.
The big black leaped up, racing after Nicolas.

As the Mexican was a little fellow, and short of leg, it was not long
before the pursuer caught up with him.

"Hol' on, yo' yaller rascal!" laughed Sambo, reaching out for the Mexican.
Nicolas wheeled about, dancing out of reach of the negro's massive hands.

"Stand still, yo' li'l' Greaser!" laughed Sambo.

"Now you have insult me, and I show you what I do to you!" snarled Nicolas,
his brown face aflame at the taunting word, "Greaser."

"Come heah!" jeered Sambo, making a bound and reaching for the small man.

Nicolas dodged, but he did not run away. Instead, he bobbed up inside of
the negro's reach. The Mexican thrust out his slim, sinewy right-hand
forefinger. A vicious poke he gave with it, landing sharply on a spot
just about an inch and a quarter below the base of the negro's breast bone.

"Woof!" panted Sambo, half dou