" Thus saying,
he stepped outside, only to return with Ridge's saddle-bags, which he
coolly opened. "Coffee, as I live!" he cried, "and hard biscuit, the
first bread I have seen in many a month! Senor, we are under
obligations to you for these welcome additions to our _menu_. Manuel,
hast thou forgotten how to make coffee, strong, and black as thine own
ebony face? Waste thou not one precious grain, or, by holy St. Jago, I
will blow out thy meagre brains."

Provoked as Ridge was at seeing his entire stock of provisions thus
appropriated to be expended on a single meal, he was not in a position
to remonstrate. So, a little later, when a revised edition of
breakfast was pronounced ready, he sat down with the host whom he did
not yet know whether to consider as friend or foe, and ate heartily of
the food thus provided.

The furnishing of that rude table was unique, for, mingled with shells
from the beach and those of cocoanuts, both of which were used in place
of cups, gourds, plantain-leaves, and wooden trays, appeared several
dishes of cut glass and dainty china, generally cracked or chipped, and
looking wofully out of place.

Seeing that Ridge noticed these, the host said, carelessly:

"Ah yes, senor, we have seen better days!" Then, lighting a cigarette,
he continued, more sternly, "Now, sir, can you give any reason why I
should not have you led out and shot as a spy?"

"You would not dare do such a thing!" replied Ridge, indignantly.

"Oh! wouldn't I? My friend, you do not realize into whose hands you
have fallen. Now, merely to prove that I have both the inclination and
power to carry out my threat, I will have you shot. Lope! Garzo!"

Two of the ragged bandits immediately appeared.

"Bind me the arms of this man and blindfold him."

The order was deftly obeyed.

"Now take him from my sight and shoot him."

Seizing Ridge by the shoulders, the men began to drag him away.

Until this moment he had not known whether to acknowledge himself an
American or claim to be a Spaniard, nor had he believed that the
extremely courteous leader of bandits with whom he had just
breakfasted, and who might be either a Cuban patriot or a Spanish
guerilla, would do him serious injury. Now, moved by an agony of
terror, he shouted out the word whispered to him a few hours before by
the commander of the _Speedy_, the secret countersign of the Cuban
Junta.

Its effect was magical. The men who were dragging him to