They dived for cover and found it in a heap of large, brush-screened rocks. They waited, peering and listening. Pretty soon they might hear the hoofs of the horses. The two riders cantered into sight. They were quite near. One was black-bearded—wore a large ribboned hat and blue and red coat and leathern leggins, the same as Lieutenant Melgares’ soldiers had worn. He was a Spanish dragoon. He carried a lance, a shield and short musketoon or escopeta hung at his saddle.
The other was dark, without whiskers: an Indian. He wore a blue cotton shirt and leggins wrapped in white from moccasins to knees. His hair fell in two braids. He, also, carried a lance and shield.
They saw nobody ahead of them, and began to move cautiously, craning, and checking their horses. Little by little they came on. Now they were within forty paces.
“This will do,” the lieutenant whispered. “We have them. Lay down your pistol and stand up so they can see you’re unarmed. Then walk out. I’ll follow and cover them. If they show sign of harm, I’ll fire upon them instantly.”
Stub bravely stood into full view and spread his empty hands. He was not afraid; not while Lieutenant Pike was backing him.
The two horsemen were completely surprised. They reined in and sat poised and gawking, on the verge of flight. But the lieutenant’s gun muzzle held them fast, while Stub walked toward them, his hand up in the peace sign. The lieutenant called:
“Amigos (Friends)! Americanos (Americans)!” And he must have beckoned, for the two timidly edged forward, ready to run or to fight. Evidently they would rather run.
The lieutenant advanced also, and joined Stub.
“Take your pistol. Here it is. We’ll talk with them. Do you know Spanish?”
“I’ve forgotten,” Stub stammered.