The captain was trussed up like a chicken now. "You will repent this," hissed the captain, through his clinched teeth. "I am of a different opinion." "Some day I will have a bitter revenge." "Why? All is fair in war. You would do the same to me if it served you and I was in your power. But we shall talk all night if we get on this strain. You won't be lonely for I have provided a companion for you. See!" Young Glory raised the clothes that covered the owner of the hut and exposed him to view. Whilst the captain was staring in astonishment at what he saw, Young Glory extinguished the light, left the hut, and closed the door securely after him. Then he unhitched the horse, sprang into the saddle and galloped away. Sailors do not excel as horsemen, but Young Glory was an exception to the rule. Before he had enlisted he had passed several years in the west, and the animal who tried to unseat him had a very difficult task to perform. "The road to Valmosa," he muttered. "Guess that won't be hard to find. I know where Valmosa lies, and roads are not very plentiful in this benighted land, so I won't have much trouble if I stick to the one I'm on." Young Glory's danger was in falling into the hands of some Spaniards. They might happen to be comrades of Ruiz, and it would be almost impossible to deceive them. But this did not daunt him. He had understood all these dangers before he took this desperate project in hand, and he thought of them now, merely because he had nothing else to do. The ride exhilarated him, and his spirits rose as he proceeded. Gradually the path--it was really little better than a mule path--descended towards the sea, and Young Glory was pleased because he knew Valmosa was on the coast, and this seemed to show him he was on the right road. However, his reflections were cut short with startling rapidity. A dozen men sprang from the surrounding trees. Two men sprang forward and seized his horse's bridle, the others, with threatening gestures, threw themselves in his way, barring his further progress. "Caramba, senor, but you're in a hurry," said a man, who appeared to be their leader. "You have judged rightly, senor," answered Young Glory, "I am in a hurry. Let me proceed." The men laughed loudly. "You are a Spanish officer. You must be mad to talk in this way," was the stern answer. "And who are you?" asked Young Glory. "We are Cuban patriots." "Patriots! Then I'm safe!" exclaimed the boy, softly. "He must die!" whispered several of the men. "We give no quarter now, since those Spanish wretches have commenced shooting their prisoners in cold blood." Half a dozen pistols were leveled at the boy, and as many machetes flashed in the air. A crisis had come. "Stop!" cried Young Glory, boldly. "I am no Spaniard." "Then what are you?" "I am an American sailor."