I paid little attention except—remembering my boyhood and my father’s smithy—to visualize automatically the coachman pulling back on the reins and the footman thrusting forward with the brake as they eased the horses downward. So when I heard first a shout and then feminine screams my instant conclusion was that the carriage had overturned on the treacherous downgrade, broken an axle, or otherwise suffered calamity. My responsive burst of speed had almost carried me to the top when I heard the shots. First one, like the barking of an uncertain dog, followed by a volley, as though the pack were unleashed. I ran to the side of the road, close to the field, where I could see with less chance of being seen. Already the dusk was playing tricks, distorting the shape of some objects and momentarily hiding others. It could not however falsify the scene in the gully below. Four men on horseback covered the carriage with drawn revolvers; a fifth, pistol also in hand, had dismounted. His horse, reins hanging down, was peacefully investigating the roadside weeds. None of them attempted to stop the terrified rearing of the carriage team. Only their position, strung across the road, prevented a runaway. I could not see the footman, but the coachman, one hand still clutching the reins, was sprawled backward with his foot caught against the dashboard and his head hanging down over the wheel. The door on the far side was swung open. I thought for a moment the passengers had managed to escape. However as the unmounted highwayman advanced, waving his pistol, the other door opened and a man and two women descended into the roadway. Slowly edging forward I could now plainly hear the gang’s obscene whistles at sight of the women. “Well boys, here’s something to warm up a cold night. Hang on to them while I see what the mister has in his pockets.” The gentleman stepped in front, and with a slight accent said, “Take the girl by all means. She is but a peasant, a servant, and may afford you amusement. But the lady is my wife; I will pay you a good ransom for her and myself. I am Don Jaime Escobar y Gallegos, attached to the Spanish legation.” One of the men on horseback said, “Well now, that’s real kind of you, Don High-me. We might have taken you up on that, was you an American. But we can’t afford no company of Spanish Marines coming looking for us, so I guess we’ll have to pass up the ransom and settle for whatever youve got handy. And Missus Don and the hired girl. Don’t worry about her being a peasant; we’ll treat her and the madam exactly the same.” “Madre de Dios,” screamed the lady. “Mercy!” “It will be a good ransom,” said the Spaniard, “and I give you my word my government will not bother you.” “Sorry, chum,” returned the gangster. “You foreigners have a nasty habit of interfering with our domestic institutions and hanging men who make a living this way. Just can’t trust you.”