To save his life he couldn't have answered just then, his breath utterly gone.
"Wha' yo' want heah, anyway ?" insisted Sambo, giving the youth a vicious shake.
There was blood before the negro's eyes, or he would sooner have recognized his victim.

But at last he did see.
"So, I'se gwine cotch Mistah Reade himself!" snorted Sambo.

"An' Ah reckon I'se gwine foun' de differculty wid my magernetto at de same time! Huh ?" Again he shook Tom, with an ease and yet a force that further drove the breath from the young engineer's body.
"Why doan' yo' talk!" glared the negro, holding Tom out at arm's length with one hand.
Tom could only groan.

Yet that method of communication carried its own explanation to the big black.
"Reckon yo' gwine talk w'en yo' get gale enough in yo' lungs," grinned the negro.

"In dat case Ah gwine lay yo' down on de groun' to fin' yo' breff." Sambo's idea of laying Tom down was to give him a violent twist that brought the lad flat on the ground at his captor's feet.