"What pidgin makee you hab got behind-side?" "It was my bad luck—an accident." "What-tim’ you hab catchee accident?" "Three days ago." "What-side?" "Near Yongampo." "Supposey you tellum allo ’bout it?" "Well, I got mixed up in a fight between Cossacks and Japanese, and I was bowled over." "Bowled over! What that say?" "Hit, tumbled on the ground: savvy?" "How hab got wailo?" "On a horse." "How horso belongey you?" "Caught it." "What-side horso this-tim’?" "Dead." "You come this-side sampan?" "In a ship." "What callum ship?’ "That I can’t tell you." "No savvy?" "Oh yes, I know; but I can’t say." "What-for no tellum?" "Because I’m in the Japanese service." "What namee Japanese that-tim’ Yongampo?" "What do you mean?" "Japanese belongey you come Yongampo. He namee—what?" "I can’t tell you that." "What-for no tellum?" "For the same reason as before." "Muss tellum—velly soon." "Very sorry; it’s quite impossible." "You belongey too muchee sassy. You no tellum, my hab got whip." Bob gave him a look, but said nothing. The Manchu raised his whip and dealt him a sharp blow with the stock, which struck his shoulder, only escaping his head because he swerved suddenly aside as he saw it coming. The next moment the Manchu lay sprawling on the ground. Bob had sprung at him and hit him so heavily and unexpectedly beneath the jaw that he lost his balance and fell backwards over his horse’s haunches. He picked himself up, and drawing his sword rushed at Bob, who stood with flaming eyes and clenched fists ready to defend himself. But the Cossack officer moved his horse a pace or two forward and interposed. He spoke a few rapid words to the Manchu, saying in effect that the prisoner was too valuable to be killed in a fit of temper; information could no doubt be got out of him in course of time; and meanwhile he should have a foretaste of the discipline awaiting him. The Manchu gave way with a sullen scowl, and remounted his horse. Then the captain gave an order; a trooper dismounted, and came towards Bob with a narrow leather thong in his hand. Bob instantly guessed what was to be done, and seeing the utter vanity of resistance, he submitted quietly, while the thong was firmly bound about his right wrist and then knotted to the near stirrup of the captain’s horse. Another order was then given; the whole troop set off at a trot down the deserted street, and as Bob was dragged by the side of the horse, the last object he remembered seeing was the pale, terror-stricken face of Mr. Helping-to-decide peeping through the broken lattice of his house. *CHAPTER XI* *Tried and Sentenced* Under Escort—A Court-Martial—Leading Questions—The Bear’s Claw