Chapter 4 YOUNG GLORY AND CAPTAIN RUIZ CALDERON-IN THE CAMP OF THE PATRIOTS.

The project Young Glory had conceived was incredibly bold.

If he had told Dan what it was, the Irishman would have done his best to dissuade him from it.

But Young Glory instead of changing his mind, became more fixed in his purpose as the time flew by.

"I don't see why it should fail," he said to himself, as he sat listening intently. "Ah! there he is. Well, the die is cast, or will be in a few minutes, anyway. I'll go through with it to the end."

He passed his hand through his thick golden curls which his sombrero had hitherto concealed. Then he hurriedly went out and posted himself behind a large tree a few yards from the hut.

Nearer and nearer came the noise that had attracted his attention. A horseman was approaching at a rapid rate, that was clear.

"Captain Calderon for certain," said Young Glory to himself. "There won't be any time to see, so I must assume it's he and take my chances."

It was so dark that he could not see the horseman, though he knew he must be very near by the sound. Then, suddenly, out into the road he sprang.

"Halt!" he cried in ringing tones, "or I will put a bullet into you."

The horseman seemed astounded. Many men could have dashed by regardless of consequences, but this man reined in his steed instantly, drawing the animal back on its haunches.

As he did so Young Glory drew up close to him, still keeping him covered with his six-shooter.

"I must ask you to dismount," he said, "and at once."

There was a light coming from the hut, for Young Glory had left the door open, and by it both men were able to distinguish each other.

Young Glory recognized Captain Calderon instantly.

"My man!" he muttered.

"The fellow from the hut!" cried the officer.

"I asked you to dismount, senor capitan," repeated Young Glory.

"I heard you, and I demand to know the meaning of this insolence."

"Demand! A strange word from a helpless man, senor. Are you aware that you are in my power, senor. Come, come, don't drive me to extremities. I should be sorry to have to injure a gallant young officer like yourself, but I tell you plainly, captain, that if you hesitate, my duty will compel me to kill you!"

There was something in the tone with which these words were spoken, more than in the words themselves, which impressed the officer.

He realized now that he had not, as he had supposed at first, a drunkard to deal with. But he was still completely at a loss to know what was meant.

However, he reasoned that a few minutes' chat in the hut, would certainly lead to a satisfactory explanation.

"The less time lost the better," said the Spanish captain.

So he dismounted, and Young Glory took possession of his pistol and also his horse. The latter he instantly hitched up to a hook driven in the wall of the hut.

"Now, fellow," said the captain, when the two men found themselves in the hut, "what does this foolery mean?"

"Take off your clothes!"

The officer colored with passion.

"My clothes," he gasped. "Never!"

"I will make you."

"What! are you a thief?"

"Call me what you please, but do as I say or it will be worse for you."

The Spanish captain made a dash at Young Glory.

The latter stepped back quickly, raising his six-shooter as he did so, and pointing it at his captive.

"You are foolish," said Young Glory. "You cannot compete with me, and you ought to understand that."

What was causing the Spaniard to stare so? Not the fact that he was threatened by Young Glory's six-shooter. No, but because when Young Glory had moved backwards, his sombrero had dropped off his head, thus exposing his thick yellow curls.

"You are not a Spaniard," said Captain Calderon, astounded at the change in his captor.

"No."

"Neither are you a Cuban."

"No."

"Who are you, then?"

"I will tell you. I am Young Glory."

The Spaniard dropped into a chair.

"So you are the man who released the prisoner who was to be shot?"

"Yes."

"And you've done terrible injury to the Spanish cause, both here and in Spain."

"You pay me a high compliment, senor."

"We have a heavy debt against you, Young Glory," said the Spaniard, gloomily.

"You will when this night is over. My work has only just commenced. Come, captain, you and I must not quarrel. You are a brave man, I know. Don't drive me to extremities. I must have your uniform and I'll give you-these."

Young Glory laughed as he pointed to the rags he was wearing.

A soldier soon recognizes the truth. A civilian is more disposed to argue. So the result was that Captain Calderon yielded with the best grace he could, and commenced to undress.

Young Glory, meanwhile, was doing the same, and in a few minutes the exchange had been effected.

Captain Calderon was a Cuban fisherman. Young Glory was a Spanish officer.

"They fit me beautifully, capitan. Don't you think so? Why, really, I'm not a conceited chap, but I don't think it would be well for you if the fair Julia saw me to-night."

"So you were listening to what I and my comrades were saying?" asked the captain, with a black look on his face.

"I heard every word. It's a way I have, and I find it extremely useful sometimes. I shall to-night."

"And now I suppose I can go?"

Young Glory smiled pityingly.

"For a man of your intelligence that is a very foolish question, senor. No, you will stay here. I shall have to secure you, bind you up in fact, and also gag you."

"Gag me?"

"Yes, you might raise an alarm. You have an excellent voice as I heard when you were drinking."

Young Glory, as a seaman, had no difficulty in fixing the cords so that they would hold, and whilst he was talking, he went on with the work.

The captain was trussed up like a chicken now.

"You will repent this," hissed the captain, through his clinched teeth.

"I am of a different opinion."

"Some day I will have a bitter revenge."

"Why? All is fair in war. You would do the same to me if it served you and I was in your power. But we shall talk all night if we get on this strain. You won't be lonely for I have provided a companion for you. See!"

Young Glory raised the clothes that covered the owner of the hut and exposed him to view.

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.

"You have judged rightly, senor," answered Young Glory, "I am in a hurry. Let me proceed."

The men laughed loudly.

"You are a Spanish officer. You must be mad to talk in this way," was the stern answer.

"And who are you?" asked Young Glory.

"We are Cuban patriots."

"Patriots! Then I'm safe!" exclaimed the boy, softly.

"He must die!" whispered several of the men. "We give no quarter now, since those Spanish wretches have commenced shooting their prisoners in cold blood."

Half a dozen pistols were leveled at the boy, and as many machetes flashed in the air.

A crisis had come.

"Stop!" cried Young Glory, boldly. "I am no Spaniard."

"Then what are you?"

"I am an American sailor."

The weapons that had threatened Young Glory's life were at once lowered, but the men seemed to receive his statement with great suspicion. They conferred together hastily, still retaining their hold on the young hero's horse.

At length the leader spoke.

"We cannot decide this question. You may be an American sailor, or you may be a spy. That is for others to determine. You must come with us to the general."

"Hurry, then, I beg. For, senors, a project I have in view for the benefit of your cause will fail if I am long delayed."

They pushed through the woods, the patriots finding paths that Young Glory would have searched for in vain.

Some half mile was traversed in this fashion, when a sentinel challenged. The answer was satisfactory, and on they went.

Then past one picket after another they went, showing what faithful guard the patriots kept, until the order to halt was given, and Young Glory found himself near a large fire around which were a number of Cuban officers.

"A prisoner, general!" said the leader of the party.

"And a valuable one, too," was the answer, as the general glanced at Young Glory. "A captain at the very least. Has he been searched?"

"No."

"Do so. He may be a bearer of despatches."

"It is needless to search me," said Young Glory, advancing slightly towards the general. "I am not what I seem. I am an American seaman. My name is Young Glory."

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