“Viva Colombia!” shouted Pedro, giving the usual greeting. “Baja los Yankees!”
Instead of answering in a like strain of enthusiasm, the man addressed tossed the loose end of his ruana over one shoulder, showing, as he did so, a pallid face on which played a contemptuous smile.
“Soy un Americano,” he replied composedly, glancing at Pedro and then turning his eyes, which were singularly piercing, from one to another of those crowding about him.
“Un Yankee! Un Yankee! Baja los Yankees!”
The cry was followed by a threatening movement of the emboladores toward the man whose attitude seemed to be a challenge to them.
“Halt!” yelled Pedro. “I know this senor. Give him a chance. If he cheers Colombia, we will let him go. If he refuses, he is prisoner. Now, Senor Yankee—viva Colombia!”
The emboladores gave a lusty cheer. It was met with scornful silence by the man who had declared himself a Yankee.
“Si! Si! Pedro el Rey!” they all shouted. “He is an enemy to Colombia. He is prisoner!”
The wily Pedro unwilling to risk his position by denying the demands of his followers, yet fearing to aid in an act of violence, diplomatically said nothing. The defiant American, meanwhile, regarded the peons with a disdain that enraged them, although checking, through its very audacity, their hostility.
“I am not a Colombian,” he said quietly; “I am not an enemy to Colombia. But I won’t cheer against the Yankees.”