His head seemed to have been smashed, he was dizzy and
weak, but he sat up and looked around him.
Then he grinned wanly.
He was in jail. A heavy, barred door was in front of him; turning his
head he saw an iron-grated window behind him. Door and window were set
in heavy stone walls; two other stone walls, with a narrow iron cot set
against one of them, rose blankly on either side.
Sanderson got up, reeling, and went to the window. Darkness had come;
he could see Okar's lights flickering and winking at him from the
buildings that skirted the street. Various sounds reached his
ears--Okar's citizens were enjoying themselves.
Sanderson did not watch the lights long. He walked to the cot, seated
himself on its edge, rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in the
upturned palms of his hands and reflected on what had occurred to him.
Remembering the four thousand dollars in bills of large denomination
that Burroughs had paid him when leaving the Pig-Pen, his hand went to
the money belt around his waist.
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