If the countenance of General Bambos had not already been as crimson as it could well be, he would have blushed. He saluted and muttered something about the pleasure he felt in deserving the regard of his distinguished compatriot.
General Yozarro strove to restrain his anger, but it was plain to every one that he was seething with rage. While Major Starland was wondering what could be the cause, the explosion came:
“One of my men, the basest of wretches, deserted my service yesterday and allied himself to Captain Guzman and to you. He sent me the most shockingly insulting of messages; since he is not on this boat, he must be on the other.”
“Such is the fact, General,” replied the Major, compressing his lips, but looking straight into the eyes of the other.
“He must be surrendered to me.”
“I receive no orders from you; you murdered the brother of Martella, though he had done nothing wrong; the message he sent to you was not respectful perhaps, but it was better than you deserved; Martella has done me and mine the best of service, and he shall never be surrendered to you.”
The fury of General Yozarro threatened to suffocate him. He rose to his feet and the others glanced apprehensively at the face of the man who had dared to defy the terrible Dictator, and who folded his arms and still looked him calmly in the eye.
“El Americano, you are here on my boat and here you will stay till that deserter takes your place. I give you the choice; if he is not turned over to me to be shot, you shall be shot in his stead.”
With all his contempt for this man, Jack Starland had never dreamed of anything like this. The words of Captain Ortega came back to him. There was a certain shadowy strength in the position of General Yozarro. No flag of truce had been called into use, and the American, after having forcibly captured the boat of the other, had voluntarily placed himself in his power, following the suggestion of General Bambos and his own impulses.
It was Bambos who broke the oppressive hush by saying to him: