Again was he a prisoner with the prospect at least of having his journey seriously delayed.

In the confusion of the moment he did not note that those into whose hands he had fallen wore blouses and trousers of blue drilling traversed by narrow, vertical stripes of white, the campaign uniform of the Spanish army in Cuba; but his companion instantly recognized it, and demanded, with a tone of authority, "Who commands here ?" "I do," replied the most ill-favored of the crew, stepping forward.
"You are a guerilla, are you not ?" "A captain of irregular cavalry, senor.

And you ?" "I," replied the lieutenant, "am a major of regulars, attached to the staff of General Luis Pando, and on an urgent mission to Jiguani.

My horse was killed by insurgents this morning, and I had a narrow escape, leaving one of them dead." "Which is the reason that two of you rode one horse in crossing the river, and so led me to mistake you for 'mamby ?'" [1] said the guerilla captain.
"Very likely, sir, though I can't be accountable for your mistakes.
Now you may let your men make a fire by which we can dry ourselves, and you may also have food prepared, for we are hungry." "But your friend, Major, who is he ?" asked the other, scanning Ridge's brown canvas uniform doubtfully.
"None of your business, sir.

Let it be sufficient that he is my friend, and do as I bid you without further words." At this Discipline, even though suspicious, yielded to the voice of Authority, and the guerilla made surly announcement that both fire and food were close at hand.
This proved true; for, on gaining the face of the bluff, our friends found themselves in the presence of some twenty more guerillas, who were gathered about fires, cooking and eating strips of meat from a recently butchered steer.