on him from the rear, and,
wrenching back his arms, held them together until the officer clasped
his wrists with handcuffs. From Peter he heard a muffled roar and,
twisting his head, saw him rolling on the sidewalk. On top of him were
a half-dozen soldiers; when they lifted him to his feet his wrists
also were in manacles.

McKildrick's outbursts were silenced by the officer.

"You need not tell me you are Americans," he said, "and if you go
quietly no harm will come. We wish only to keep you out of mischief."

"Go?" demanded Peter. "Go where?"

"To the _cartel_," said the officer, smiling. "You will be safer
there."

He stepped into the light and waved his sword, and from across the
street came running many more soldiers. A squad of these the officer
detailed to surround his prisoners. To the others he said: "Search the
house. Find the third one, Senor Forrester. Do not harm him, but," he
added meaningly, "bring him with you!"

At the word, Peter swung his arms free from the man who held them.
With a yell of warning, which he hoped would reach Roddy, and pulling
impotently at his handcuffs, he dashed into the house, the soldiers
racing at his heels.

Roddy had finished his inspection of his engine, but was still
guarding the launch, waiting with impatience for some one to bring him
his dinner. He was relieved to note that from the direction of Miramar
there was no sound of fighting. In the lower part of the city he could
hear a brisk fusillade, but, except from the custom-house, the firing
had more the sound of street fighting than of an organized attack.
From this, he judged the assault on the artillery barracks had not yet
begun. He flashed his electric torch on his watch, and it showed half
past seven. There was still a half-hour to wait. He rose and, for the
hundredth time, spun the wheel of his engine, examined his revolver,
and yawned nervously. It was now quite dark. Through the trees and
shrubs in the garden he could see the lights on the dinner-table and
the spectacle made him the more hungry. To remind the others that he
was starving, he gave a long whistle. It was at once cautiously
answered, to his surprise, not from the house but from a spot a
hundred feet from him, on the shore of the harbor. He decided, as it
was in the direction one would take in walking from Miramar, that
Pedro had arrived, and he sighed with relief. He was about to repeat
his signal of distress when, from the _patio_, there a