Undesirous as they were of meeting General de Guzman, who might prove to be more astute than the young officer, there was no help for it. They were fairly in for it. With somewhat downcast faces they followed their guide past the formidable rows of artillery and within the insurgent lines. So far as they could judge it was quite as well organized and better supplied with arms than that of the government. The men, cheered by their victories, appeared, too, to be in better mood than the Costavezans. Laughter was everywhere, and a degree of order and cleanliness not often found in South American insurgent forces. “Evidently General de Guzman is a good commander,” thought Ned. From time to time as they passed among the troops the young officer pointed out things of interest. If he had not already been so anxious over the result of their interview with the general, Midshipman Stark’s heart would have smote him for the deception he was practicing on this kind-hearted young host. “You have seen service elsewhere?” he asked, as they walked along. “Oh, yes, senor. I was with the Spanish troops in Morocco. We had what the Yankees call a ‘hot time’ there.” “You do not like Yankees, as you call them.” “No, I do not.” The young officer’s brow grew dark. “They are arrogant and overbearing. They interfere too much. They are opposed to this revolution, as they call it--perhaps you know?” He turned an inquiring glance on Stark. “Not the first thing about it, my dear fellow,” the masquerading middy hastened to assure him, with his accent laid on thicker than ever. “They even have sent a small vessel of war--a destroyer, they call her--to harass us. The pigs! I would like to line them all up against a wall and shoot them down--one by one.” “Well, this is a nice, friendly bunch we’ve run into,” whispered Herc, as he heard these words. “It’s enough to scare the British accent out of a fellow to hear that chap talk.” “Hush!” warned Stanley, “he might hear you, and we’ve poked our noses into a bad enough hornets’ nest as it is, I’m thinking.” So thought the others, too. Stark’s part was particularly hard to play, as upon him fell the burden of keeping up the conversation with the young officer. Before long they came in sight of a pretty villa, with broad verandas well sheltered by various shade trees. Before it were tethered several saddle horses. One or two of them looked as if they had been ridden hard. “The general’s present headquarters,” said the young officer, indicating the villa with a sweep of his hand. “Before, it was occupied by our leader, Colonel Vegas. Since the arrival of the general this morning, however, he has given it up to his superior.” “Surely that is a side saddle I see on that horse yonder, old chap,” said Stark suddenly. “Are there ladies in your army?” The young officer laughed heartily. “You have curious ideas of our troops, sir. No, indeed, that horse belongs to the general’s niece.”