There, stretched out on the bed, was the Apache chief's lieutenant. Duval
himself was not to be seen.
Hal, with revolver ready, tiptoed into the room. He saw a revolver on the
little table, and muttered to himself:
"Careless of him."
At that moment the man on the bed turned and slowly opened his eyes. A
cry of terror escaped him, as his gaze rested upon Hal, whom he was
morally certain was in a living tomb in the cellar.
"Ghost, go away!" he exclaimed.
Hal laughed loudly, and it was no ghost laugh, either. The man in the
bed sat up.
"How did you get out of there?" he demanded, as if it were the most
momentous question in the world.
"I blew the lock off the door," replied Hal calmly.
"But your gun? You had no gun."
"Oh, yes, I had," smiled Hal. "I had two of 'em, and I've got 'em
yet. See?"
He pointed both straight at the head of his late captor.
"Now," he said quietly, "get up and get out of there."
"What are you going to do with me?" asked the man in alarm.
"Deliver you into the care of General Gallieni.
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