But the Mexicans pressed against him, scowling and shaking their heads as though to imply that they did not understand.
"Get back, every one of you," insisted Lieutenant Hal. "You know well enough what I am telling you."
However, the Mexicans at the rear of the compact little crowd pushed against those in front. The Army boy was in danger of being pushed off his feet.
In an instant Hal's right hand flew to the hilt of his sword. He spoke no word, now, but his face was white, his lips set and stern. The gleam in his eyes boded no good to the men in front of him.
Swish! The sword leaped from its scabbard, its keen blade gleaming in the air as Lieutenant Hal made a swift cut about him. The steel struck no one, for the rabble drew back swiftly. Some thirty pairs of eyes flashed hatred at the Army boy.
"Now, keep your distance," warned the Army boy, coolly returning his sword to its scabbard.
"Surely we can draw some steel of our own, friends," muttered one of the Mexicans. "If this soldier boy resists us again, or places his hand to his sword, let every man among us draw his own steel and rush in over his body!"
Hal heard and comprehended, perfectly, but his orders had been not to let the Mexicans see that he understood their talk. So he stood there, smiling coolly.
"Peace, friends, for a moment," broke in another Mexican, speaking in Spanish. "Then, if this young soldado does not yield, it will be time to rush over him. If we finish him, no one can afterwards swear whose knife did the deed. After that the same thrust for his captain."
Again Hal Overton comprehended, but he glanced, in cool inquiry, at the speaker as that fellow stepped forward.