They were soon at the end of their walk. Lieutenant Overton gave a gasp of dismay as his gaze fell upon the recumbent forms of six of his men, every one of them bound. Twenty feet beyond them lay a heap of six rifles and as many ammunition belts. Hal's eyes roved from face to face, his men grinning back sheepishly at him.
"All of our sentries for a thousand feet on either side of the pier!" gasped the young lieutenant, in deep humiliation.
Pedro Guarez, laughing harshly, said to Hal:
"Bah! You Gringos are no men to compete with the sons of Mexico! You are like children to us, who roam always by night, in preference to the light of day. And there is much Indian blood in Mexican veins. Now, if you are wise, no harm will come to you. But if you make a noise or show fight—so!"
Guarez made a significant gesture across his throat.
"How did you men come to be taken, Simms?" asked Hal, of the nearest soldier, after his captors had forced him to lie on the ground with his men.
"A Greaser crept up behind me, sir, and threw a noose that got tangled around my windpipe," replied Private Simms. "He did it so swiftly and quietly, too, that not even Bolton on the next post heard him."
"I heard nothing, sir," confirmed Private Bolton, "until I heard a roaring in my own ears just after I got the noose trick, and then a lot of other Greasers piled on me."
Again Guarez laughed, though he added with a snarl:
"You will do well to stop the use of that word, Greaser, fellow. Otherwise you will feel the weight of a boot in your face. So!"