I knew well enough what he meant, and was in such a towering rage that I’d have taken any risk. I held out my hand, he held out his, and we shook. ’Right you are, old chap, I’ll trust them.’ He jabbered to the officer who had followed me, and then said, ’Take me to prisoners,’ so we picked up the litter and carried him to where they were, the other officers laughing, and not even getting up from their benches to see what was going to happen. Then he introduced the officer to me. ’Don Pedro de Castilio—Señor William Wilson,’ and we bowed to each other. I thought it an awful waste of time when every second mattered, and what we had to do had to be done quickly. He went among the regulars, waking them, and half-a-dozen glided to a wagon and came back with rifles. Don Pedro took four of them along to the inn, and I saw them pointing their rifles through the windows. ’Don Pedro make them prisoners,’ Navarro whispered, with his eyes gleaming. That was a jolly smart move, and the officers never made a sound. If they’d sung out or fired a shot, we should have had the _machetos_ round us in a second. As fast as the other two woke their comrades, they stole away and got rifles, some of them bringing back a box of ammunition. Not a _macheto_ moved, and you bet I kept my eyes skinned lest they should wake, handing out ammunition as fast as the regulars came up for it. By the time I had seventy or eighty armed, I made them climb on top of the four wagons, so that they could defend themselves better in case the little forest-men tried to rush us with their _machetes_; I lifted Navarro on top of one of them too. One of these wagons was right in front of the inn, so that my five young friends inside it had about twenty rifle-muzzles to look at. Still not a macheto stirred—they seemed dead to the world—so I went across to the inn. It was they who were up against something ’tough’ now, and they knew it, stood up, began unbuckling their sword-belts, and were just going to hand them to me, when I heard cries of ’_Señor! Señor!_’ heard men running, and, looking over my shoulder, saw the rest of the regulars swarming round the wagon with the rifles in it, making a tremendous noise as they pulled them out. I ran along the road, and, as I ran, I saw the _machetos_, under the trees, all rising to their feet, gripping those horrid _machetes_. I pointed to the wagons, there was no need for orders, the regulars simply scrambled on top of them like drowning rats on a log, running from wagon to wagon to find room, and crawling underneath them when they couldn’t. I jumped across to where Jim, my horse, was standing, got on him, and pulled him into the middle of the road. The little _machetos_ hadn’t quite got the hang of affairs, and looked half-dazed to see the regulars on top of the wagons and the rifles pointing at them.