Even then Frank and Bob would have fought for their freedom, stupefied though they were. In fact Bob, who had fallen to the ground in tumbling from the hammock, had seized his gun which was standing against the tree, but the commanding voice of the glittering stranger again bade him forebear.
“Behold, we, too, have fire sticks that speak with tongues of flame and carry the unseen death.”
He swept his hand again around the clearing. And the two young fellows saw in the hands of the score of men ringing them ’round, weapons mounted in silver and gold and ancient in appearance, yet firearms, nevertheless, it was not to be doubted.
“Lower your gun, Bob, but don’t relinquish it,” whispered Frank, in English. Then in Spanish, and seeking to put into his voice all the imperiousness which he could summon, he added:
“We are travelers on peaceful business. By what right do you steal upon us like this? Surely,” he added, in a tone of scorn, “you are not thieves who would rob us of our few belongings.”
“You come into a land whence no man may bear report abroad,” said the other, darkly. “Yet fear not. Your lives are not in danger, if you will but yield peacefully. And”—he added, simply—“if you would fight, these would die for me. Though some be killed, yet can you not hope to escape.”
The two looked at each other.
“Ask him where the others are,” said Bob. “I can hardly understand his lingo. Sounds like Spanish, all right, yet it’s a new kind of Spanish to me. You get along better than I do, so fire away.”
“We had some friends,” began Frank. But he was interrupted.
“They are alive and in our hands,” said the stranger. “Speak. Will you fight or submit?”