een painted against that vivid tropical background.

Then Harris, moved by his piquant Yankee curiosity, appeared at the
door of the parish house, his great eyes protruding and his head
craned forth like a monster heron. Morales saw him. "Ha!" he
exclaimed. "Perhaps the _Americano_ hides the daughter of Ariza!"

He started for the priest's door. But ere he reached it Reed suddenly
appeared from behind Harris. In his hand he grasped a large American
flag. Holding this high above his head, he blocked the entrance.

"Hold! _Senor Capitan_!" he cried in his perfect Spanish. "We are
American citizens, and this house is under the protection of the
American Government!"

Morales fell back and stood with mouth agape in astonishment. The
audacity of this foreign adventurer fairly robbed him of his breath.
He glanced dubiously from him to the priest. Then, to save the
situation, he broke into an embarrassed laugh.

"_Bien_, my good friend," he finally said, addressing Reed in his
courtliest manner, "all respect to your excellent Government. And, if
you will accept it, I shall be pleased to secure you a commission in
the Colombian army. But, my orders--you understand, do you not? The
sun is already high, and I can not lose more time. Therefore, you will
kindly stand aside and permit me to search that house." He motioned to
his men and moved forward.

Still holding aloft the flag, Reed drew a long revolver. Harris
quickly produced one of equal size and wicked appearance. Morales
stopped abruptly and looked at them in hesitation. He knew what he
might expect. He had heard much of American bravery. His chief delight
when not in the field was the perusal of a battered history of the
American Civil War; and his exclamations of admiration for the
hardihood of those who participated in it were always loud and
frequent. But he, too, had a reputation to sustain. The Americans
stood grimly silent before him. Harris's finger twitched nervously
along the trigger, and a smile played over his thin lips. The man was
aching for a scrimmage.

Then, his face flaming with shame and chagrin, Morales turned to his
escort and commanded them to advance.

Up went the two revolvers. A moment more, and--

A cry came from Rosendo's house. Ana, her face swollen with weeping,
clasping her sightless babe to her bosom, had emerged and faced the
captain.

"Senor," she said in a voice strained to a whisper, "I am the daughter
of Rosendo Ariza."

A