"I will put you down again!" "Yo' get away from me---please do!" begged Sambo, recoiling in terror.
"Sambo," laughed Tom, "Africa shouldn't have stirred up Mexico as you did.
Now, lie down on your face, place your hands behind you, and I will persuade him to let you alone." Sambo hesitated.
"Let me at him, Senor!" begged Nicolas, maneuvering forward, his right hand ready.

"He is _no_ good, I tell you! But I feex him!" With a yell Sambo Ebony flopped over on his face, placing his hands behind his back.
"Let him alone, Nicolas, as long as he minds," ordered Reade, catching the excited Mexican by the collar.

"Only, if he shows signs of making trouble then sail into him fast." No sign of trouble, however, was there in Sambo.

He lay as meek as a lamb while Tom used a lot of the spare cord in taking sundry hitches around the negro's wrists.
"I don't believe he'll get out of that," said Reade grimly, "Now, we'll fix his feet." This, too, was done, and Sambo lay helpless on the ground.
"You'll make a fine-looking jailbird, my friend," mocked Tom, looking down at the prisoner.

"Nor did any man ever better deserve the striped suit that the State of Alabama will present you.