"It's puzzled I am!"
"I'm not. Stay where you are, Dan. That is to say, get amongst these trees till you hear from me."
"But where are ye goin'?"
"Going to call on some friends of mine who live in that house."
Before Dan could say a word, Young Glory was gone, and the Irishman, mindful of his safety, hid himself amid the bushes, still keeping a watch on the house to which his comrade was going.
Young Glory walked boldly up to the hut, for it was no more, and hammered sharply on the door.
He had no cause for fear. He was dressed in the native costume, and spoke the language perfectly.
It was some few minutes before any one answered his summons, and then the door was opened by as villainous-looking a man as Young Glory thought he had ever set eyes on.
The man was apparently about forty years old, not tall, but broad-shouldered and strong.
"Good-day, comrade," said Young Glory, gayly.