Only a few paces away stood a young man of dark but handsome features, clad in a well-worn suit of linen and a broad-brimmed palmetto hat.

A military belt filled with cartridges encircled his waist, and from it hung an empty scabbard of untanned cowhide, designed to carry a machete.

With that weapon held in one hand and a cocked pistol levelled full at Ridge in the other, he presented the appearance of a first-class brigand.
The young trooper made a movement towards his own revolver, but it was instantly checked by the stranger, who said, sternly, in Spanish: "Hold there! If you but touch a weapon I shall shoot you dead! You are my prisoner, and will obey my commands.

That I am prepared to enforce them I will show you." With this he sounded a low whistle that was answered by a rustle in the bushes, from which half a dozen armed ragamuffins of all shades of swarthiness, from jet black to light chocolate, appeared as though by magic.

All were provided with machetes, some carried rifles, and each looked as though it would afford him the greatest pleasure to cut into small pieces the stranger who had invaded their territory.
"You see," said their leader, with a smile, "that you are hopelessly surrounded, and that with a nod I can have you killed." "Yes, I see," replied Ridge, "and I should be pleased to know into whose hands I have fallen.