"See here, soldier," began the Mexican, speaking fluently in English, "Don Pedro has invited us into this barn. You have no lawful right to stop us."
"I won't argue that with you," the young lieutenant answered steadily.
"But you will have to let us pass. We are going inside. So why should you take a lot of blows that you need not receive? And my countrymen are excitable, some of them. I do not know that one or two of them could be restrained from using a knife on you."
"They'll know more afterward, if they try it," laughed Hal, as though the situation amused him. "But I would advise your friends not to try it. You and they are going to move back, now, and thereafter any man who gets within ten feet of me I am going to run through with my sword."
Hal tapped the hilt of his weapon lightly, then started to push the rabble back. There were many mutterings. Lieutenant Overton did not know at what instant he might feel the sharp prick of steel. If he felt any fear of such a fate nothing in his cool smile betrayed him. The crowd fell back, though there was no assurance that their smouldering wrath might not flame up at any moment. Hal's life still hung on a thread. A breath, and these sullen, excitable men would hurl themselves upon him.
In the meantime, Guarez, realizing that his friends might not come immediately to his assistance, had scowlingly followed Captain Foster to the haymow. That officer picked up a pitchfork and began to prod the hay.
"I forbid this!" cried Guarez, in a deep, dramatic voice. Captain Foster paid no heed. Soon the captain drove his implement through the hay, and against something that gave back a resistance like that of soft pine. With a skill that he had acquired as a boy on a farm the captain began to pitch the hay.
"Stop! You have no right!" thundered the Mexican. But Captain Foster had uncovered two packing cases and continued energetically with his work.
"Will you stop?" howled the Mexican, advancing upon the man in uniform.
"No," returned Foster briefly. "I'm here on business."