So he dismounted, and Young Glory took possession of his pistol and also his horse. The latter he instantly hitched up to a hook driven in the wall of the hut. "Now, fellow," said the captain, when the two men found themselves in the hut, "what does this foolery mean?" "Take off your clothes!" The officer colored with passion. "My clothes," he gasped. "Never!" "I will make you." "What! are you a thief?" "Call me what you please, but do as I say or it will be worse for you." The Spanish captain made a dash at Young Glory. The latter stepped back quickly, raising his six-shooter as he did so, and pointing it at his captive. "You are foolish," said Young Glory. "You cannot compete with me, and you ought to understand that." What was causing the Spaniard to stare so? Not the fact that he was threatened by Young Glory's six-shooter. No, but because when Young Glory had moved backwards, his sombrero had dropped off his head, thus exposing his thick yellow curls. "You are not a Spaniard," said Captain Calderon, astounded at the change in his captor. "No." "Neither are you a Cuban." "No." "Who are you, then?" "I will tell you. I am Young Glory." The Spaniard dropped into a chair. "So you are the man who released the prisoner who was to be shot?" "Yes." "And you've done terrible injury to the Spanish cause, both here and in Spain." "You pay me a high compliment, senor." "We have a heavy debt against you, Young Glory," said the Spaniard, gloomily. "You will when this night is over. My work has only just commenced. Come, captain, you and I must not quarrel. You are a brave man, I know. Don't drive me to extremities. I must have your uniform and I'll give you--these." Young Glory laughed as he pointed to the rags he was wearing. A soldier soon recognizes the truth. A civilian is more disposed to argue. So the result was that Captain Calderon yielded with the best grace he could, and commenced to undress. Young Glory, meanwhile, was doing the same, and in a few minutes the exchange had been effected. Captain Calderon was a Cuban fisherman. Young Glory was a Spanish officer. "They fit me beautifully, capitan. Don't you think so? Why, really, I'm not a conceited chap, but I don't think it would be well for you if the fair Julia saw me to-night." "So you were listening to what I and my comrades were saying?" asked the captain, with a black look on his face. "I heard every word. It's a way I have, and I find it extremely useful sometimes. I shall to-night." "And now I suppose I can go?" Young Glory smiled pityingly. "For a man of your intelligence that is a very foolish question, senor. No, you will stay here. I shall have to secure you, bind you up in fact, and also gag you." "Gag me?" "Yes, you might raise an alarm. You have an excellent voice as I heard when you were drinking." Young Glory, as a seaman, had no difficulty in fixing the cords so that they would hold, and whilst he was talking, he went on with the work.