[Prisoners of Chance by Randall Parrish]@TWC D-Link bookPrisoners of Chance CHAPTER XXXIII 11/23
The saints defend us! What was that? As I live, I heard English speech!" He was earnestly engaged in an endeavor to detach a bit of dull metal from the throat of the image, and scarcely deigned to glance around. "Nay, there was no sound other than the chattering of your own tongue. This shining thing is gold, I believe." "Let it be; 't is of small value here.
I tell you I heard a strange voice; so hold still and listen." For a minute or more we waited in almost breathless suspense, no unusual sound greeting our ears.
Then the Puritan sniffed disdainfully. "You grow childish, Master Benteen," he growled roughly, turning back to his labor.
"The dark has overstrained your nerves--" "I bespeak help of de Englishmen for de sake of God!" There was no mistaking the truth this time--a strange voice was speaking broken English almost at our very feet.
Cairnes clattered to the floor with a rough exclamation of surprise, while I stared vainly at the idol, from which the sound apparently came. "In Heaven's name, who are you ?" I asked earnestly, "and where are you who make appeal to us ?" "I am Andre Lafossier, native of France, for two months past a prisoner to these savages.
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