"I give you that word of honor," said Tom, simply.
"And I have only to remind you, senor, that, if you make the mistake of breaking your word, bullets travel fast and several of my men are sharpshooters."
"I am an American and a gentleman," Reade returned, with offended dignity. "My word of honor is not given to be broken."
"Then you will seat yourself, senor, or stroll about and amuse yourself within the narrow limits of this small camp."
Tom stepped over, rested his hand on Harry's shoulder, then dropped to a seat beside his chum.
"Can you beat it?" Tom demanded, in ready American slang.
"It would be hard to, wouldn't it?" Harry asked, smiling sheepishly.
Pedro Gato turned to regard them with a surly grin. Though handcuffed,
Gato seemed to feel that he was now enjoying his own innings.
For an hour or more the soldiers continued to rest. All of them, including the lieutenant, who sat stiffly aloof from his men, rolling and smoking cigarettes.
"I see a bully argument against cigarette smoking," whispered
Tom in his chum's ear.