"And I will ask if you are American or Spaniard?"
"But my question came first," insisted Ridge.
"While I am in a position to have mine answered," replied the other, again smiling. "But I will not press it at this moment. We will first seek a place better suited to conversation, since here we are liable to be interrupted. The American gunboats have an unpleasant habit of dropping shells among any party whom they may discover on the beach. Then, too, many Cubanos have been seen about here lately, and they might molest us, while it is also nearly time for the Spanish lancha that patrols this coast at sunrise and sunset. So you see-- Disarm him!"
This last was an order to two men who had moved noiselessly up behind Ridge while his attention was diverted by their leader. Now they seized our young trooper, took his weapons, and marched him away, though allowing him to retain his hold on Señorita's bridle. For a few paces they crashed through the underbrush, hacking a rude path for the mare with their machetes as they went. Then they struck a dim trail that ended at a grass-grown and little-used road. Crossing this, they entered the grounds of what had evidently been a fine plantation, though a young forest growth was now rapidly spreading over its once well-cultivated fields. A weedy approach between rows of noble trees led to the blackened ruins of a large house and outlying buildings. The stone walls were already over-run with a tangle of vines from which flamed blood-red blossoms. Several horses cropped the rank grass about these ruins, and into one of them, which had been given a temporary thatch of palm leaves, the prisoner was led.
"Here we had begun to break our fast when your mare notified us of your proximity," said the leader, who had already motioned to his men to loose their hold on the young American. "Now if you will honor us with your company, we will resume that interrupted pleasure. Manuel, we wait to be served."
Upon this a grinning negro brought in a basketful of yams that had evidently been roasted among the ashes of an open fire, and set it on a rude table. Beside it he placed a calabash containing a drink mixed of water, lime-juice, and brown sugar. "Let us eat," said the host, reaching for one of the ash-encoated yams. "But hold," he added, as though with a sudden thought. "Excuse me for a moment." Thus saying, he stepped outside, only to return with Ridge's saddle-bags, which he coolly opened. "Coffee, as I live!" he cried, "and hard biscuit, the first bread I have seen in many a month! Señor, we are under obligations to you for these welcome additions to our menu. Manuel, hast thou forgotten how to make coffee, strong, and black as thine own ebony face? Waste thou not one precious grain, or, by holy St. Jago, I will blow out thy meagre brains."
Provoked as Ridge was at seeing his entire stock of provisions thus appropriated to be expended on a single meal, he was not in a position to remonstrate. So, a little later, when a revised edition of breakfast was pronounced ready, he sat down with the host whom he did not yet know whether to consider as friend or foe, and ate heartily of the food thus provided.
The furnishing of that rude table was unique, for, mingled with shells from the beach and those of cocoanuts, both of which were used in place of cups, gourds, plantain-leaves, and wooden trays, appeared several dishes of cut glass and dainty china, generally cracked or chipped, and looking wofully out of place.
Seeing that Ridge noticed these, the host said, carelessly:
"Ah yes, señor, we have seen better days!" Then, lighting a cigarette, he continued, more sternly, "Now, sir, can you give any reason why I should not have you led out and shot as a spy?"