There was no pulling them apart, and the swaying revolver was a menace which made Walter dive for a deck-broom left against the rail. The heavy handle was of hickory. Swinging it with all his might, Walter brought it down with a terrific thump across the knuckles of General Quesada, who instantly dropped the revolver. Walter's blood was up and he intended to deal thoroughly with this would-be murderer. Whacking him with the broom-handle, he drove him, bellowing, toward the nearest saloon entrance, while Alfaro danced behind them, shouting approval. By now the first mate came charging down from the bridge. Captain Bradshaw arrived a moment later, clad in sky-blue pajamas, his bare feet pattering along the deck. He picked up the revolver, eyed Walter and the broom-handle with a comical air of surprise, and inquired: "Who started this circus? Is it a revolution? I shall have to put a few of you fire-eaters in irons." The parrot had rolled into the scuppers, cage and all, and its nerves were so shaken that it twisted its favorite oration wrong end to, and dolefully and quite appropriately chanted at intervals: "_Viva Colombia! Pobre Panama!_" Captain Bradshaw aimed an accusing finger at the bird and exclaimed: "Shut up! You talk too much." "That was the whole trouble, sir," said Walter, wondering whether he was to be punished or commended. "General Quesada brought this--this broom-handle on himself. He was trying to shoot Señor Alfaro." "I need no diagrams to tell me that Señor Alfaro sailed into him first," said the captain. "This had been brewing for some time. I shall have to investigate after breakfast." A little later Walter discovered Fernandez Garcia Alfaro seated upon a hatch-cover forward. At sight of his Anglo-Saxon ally the impulsive Colombian sprang to his feet and cried, with outstretched hands: "You have saved my life! I shall never forget it, _mi amigo_. I have hated the North Americans, but my heart is full of affection for you." Rather taken aback by this tribute, Walter said in a matter-of-fact manner: "You surely piled into that fat general like a West India hurricane. I'm glad I spoiled his programme." Alfaro's expressive face was vindictive as he exclaimed: "I have not finished with him and his infernal parrot!" "Pooh, forget him," carelessly advised Walter, to whom this threat of vengeance sounded theatrical. "Better steer clear of this Quesada person. He looks to me like an ugly customer." Alfaro smiled rather sheepishly as he remarked: "It was not very diplomatic? You must think I am a funny diplomat, Goodwin." "Well, I never happened to meet one before," confessed Walter, returning the smile, "and I had an idea that diplomats were not quite so violent and sudden in their methods." "It was that beastly parrot," began Alfaro in a quick gust of anger; but he checked himself with a shrug and asked a question which led Walter to reply: