As he did so Young Glory drew up close to him, still keeping him covered
with his six-shooter.

"I must ask you to dismount," he said, "and at once."

There was a light coming from the hut, for Young Glory had left the door
open, and by it both men were able to distinguish each other.

Young Glory recognized Captain Calderon instantly.

"My man!" he muttered.

"The fellow from the hut!" cried the officer.

"I asked you to dismount, senor capitan," repeated Young Glory.

"I heard you, and I demand to know the meaning of this insolence."

"Demand! A strange word from a helpless man, senor. Are you aware that
you are in my power, senor. Come, come, don't drive me to extremities. I
should be sorry to have to injure a gallant young officer like yourself,
but I tell you plainly, captain, that if you hesitate, my duty will
compel me to kill you!"

There was something in the tone with which these words were spoken, more
than in the words themselves, which impressed the officer.

He realized now that he had not, as he had supposed at first, a drunkard
to deal with. But he was still completely at a loss to know what was
meant.

However, he reasoned that a few minutes' chat in the hut, would
certainly lead to a satisfactory explanation.

"The less time lost the better," said the Spanish captain.

So he dismounted, and Young Glory took possession of his pistol and also
his horse. The latter he instantly hitched up to a hook driven in the
wall of the hut.

"Now, fellow," said the captain, when the two men found themselves in
the hut, "what does this foolery mean?"

"Take off your clothes!"

The officer colored with passion.

"My clothes," he gasped. "Never!"

"I will make you."

"What! are you a thief?"

"Call me what you please, but do as I say or it will be worse for you."

The Spanish captain made a dash at Young Glory.

The latter stepped back quickly, raising his six-shooter as he did so,
and pointing it at his captive.

"You are foolish," said Young Glory. "You cannot compete with me, and
you ought to understand that."

What was causing the Spaniard to stare so? Not the fact that he was
threatened by Young Glory's six-shooter. No, but because when Young
Glory had moved backwards, his sombrero had dropped off his head, thus
exposing his thick yellow curls.

"You are not a Spaniard," said Captain Calderon, astounded at the change
in his captor.

"No."

"Neither are you a Cuban."

"No."