“Very well,” Margaret said. “There comes the captain. What strange little horses. Are they imported, Captain Tucket?” “No, sir. This country horses. Imported horses die of the heat, or the change of grass. Beyond Carta-yaina there’s very good horse country.” The rabble on the beach drew back now towards the town, handling their arms. Half a dozen horsemen rode as though to meet the boat, almost to the lip of the sea. One of them, a negro, who held his stirrups with his toes, carried a pennon. “The lad on the pinto’s the capataz,” said Tucket in his beard. “Stand up with the flag in the bows there. Down sail. Let your oars swing fore and aft in their grummets, ready to back her off. Wave your flag of truce, Ed. Don’t shake your pistols out though. Stand by, Captain Stukeley.” “Are they friendly, do you think?” “Sure.” “Oh, Stukeley,” Margaret said. “This little case contains a ring for the Governor. Say that you trust that it may have the felicity to fit.” “I will,” said Stukeley. “They carry some plate on their headstalls, don’t they?” He put the case in his pocket. The bow man waved his flag of truce, then lowered it, and knelt, waiting for the shock of the grounding. Very gently, in the wash of little waves and slipping shingle, the boat’s nose took the sand. Captain Margaret stepped across the thwarts, holding a white cloth in his hand. Watching his time, he leaped nimbly beyond the water, and uncovered. Stukeley followed him, jumping clumsily. It seemed to Margaret, as he turned sharply, thinking that the man had fallen, that a book in Stukeley’s inner pocket was surely Cammock’s map-book. It half jolted out as the coat flew open. It was a glimpse, nothing more. Perhaps he was wrong. The two men stood uncovered before the horsemen, who watched them with the grave eyes of animals. An elderly man among the riders rode forward for a pace or two, uncovering with a gesture full of dignity. He had the bearing of a soldier. It seemed to Margaret that the gesture explained the might of Spain. Stukeley advanced towards the horseman with his hat beating against his knee. He spoke quietly in Spanish. After a few words, the elderly man dismounted, and the two walked to and fro together, talking with a grave politeness, which seemed to extend to the listeners, whether they understood or not. Presently Stukeley bowed very low to the captain, and walked jauntily to Margaret. “It’s all right,” he said. “I think they’ll do your business for you. They’re very friendly. They’re going to take me to see the Governor.” “Am I to come?” “Only one man, he says. I may have to stay to dinner.” “You think you run no risk? I’m willing to come if you think you run any. I ought to share it.” “They’re all right. There’s no risk. But he offers a hostage.” “One of those cut-throats?”