Whilst the captain was staring in astonishment at what he saw, Young Glory extinguished the light, left the hut, and closed the door securely after him.
Then he unhitched the horse, sprang into the saddle and galloped away.
Sailors do not excel as horsemen, but Young Glory was an exception to the rule. Before he had enlisted he had passed several years in the west, and the animal who tried to unseat him had a very difficult task to perform.
"The road to Valmosa," he muttered. "Guess that won't be hard to find. I know where Valmosa lies, and roads are not very plentiful in this benighted land, so I won't have much trouble if I stick to the one I'm on."
Young Glory's danger was in falling into the hands of some Spaniards. They might happen to be comrades of Ruiz, and it would be almost impossible to deceive them. But this did not daunt him. He had understood all these dangers before he took this desperate project in hand, and he thought of them now, merely because he had nothing else to do.
The ride exhilarated him, and his spirits rose as he proceeded.
Gradually the path—it was really little better than a mule path—descended towards the sea, and Young Glory was pleased because he knew Valmosa was on the coast, and this seemed to show him he was on the right road.
However, his reflections were cut short with startling rapidity.
A dozen men sprang from the surrounding trees. Two men sprang forward and seized his horse's bridle, the others, with threatening gestures, threw themselves in his way, barring his further progress.
"Caramba, senor, but you're in a hurry," said a man, who appeared to be their leader.