sed to know into
whose hands I have fallen. Are you Cubano or a Spaniard?"

"And I will ask if you are American or Spaniard?"

"But my question came first," insisted Ridge.

"While I am in a position to have mine answered," replied the other,
again smiling. "But I will not press it at this moment. We will first
seek a place better suited to conversation, since here we are liable to
be interrupted. The American gunboats have an unpleasant habit of
dropping shells among any party whom they may discover on the beach.
Then, too, many Cubanos have been seen about here lately, and they
might molest us, while it is also nearly time for the Spanish _lancha_
that patrols this coast at sunrise and sunset. So you see-- Disarm
him!"

This last was an order to two men who had moved noiselessly up behind
Ridge while his attention was diverted by their leader. Now they
seized our young trooper, took his weapons, and marched him away,
though allowing him to retain his hold on Senorita's bridle. For a few
paces they crashed through the underbrush, hacking a rude path for the
mare with their machetes as they went. Then they struck a dim trail
that ended at a grass-grown and little-used road. Crossing this, they
entered the grounds of what had evidently been a fine plantation,
though a young forest growth was now rapidly spreading over its once
well-cultivated fields. A weedy approach between rows of noble trees
led to the blackened ruins of a large house and outlying buildings.
The stone walls were already over-run with a tangle of vines from which
flamed blood-red blossoms. Several horses cropped the rank grass about
these ruins, and into one of them, which had been given a temporary
thatch of palm leaves, the prisoner was led.

"Here we had begun to break our fast when your mare notified us of your
proximity," said the leader, who had already motioned to his men to
loose their hold on the young American. "Now if you will honor us with
your company, we will resume that interrupted pleasure. Manuel, we
wait to be served."

Upon this a grinning negro brought in a basketful of yams that had
evidently been roasted among the ashes of an open fire, and set it on a
rude table. Beside it he placed a calabash containing a drink mixed of
water, lime-juice, and brown sugar. "Let us eat," said the host,
reaching for one of the ash-encoated yams. "But hold," he added, as
though with a sudden thought. "Excuse me for a moment.