luence.

Alvarez arose and walked over to his camp-fire. Braxton Wyatt followed him
and whispered rapidly to the Spaniard. Paul, persistent and always
hopeful, was putting down his anger and trying to think of other effective
words that he might use. But none would come into his head, and he, too,
rose.

"I am sorry that we cannot agree. Captain Alvarez," he said with the grave
courtesy that became him so well, "and therefore I will bid you good day."

A thin smile passed over the face of the Spaniard and the blue eyes shed a
momentary, metallic gleam.

"I pray you not to be in haste, Senor Cotter," he said. "Be our guest for
a while."

"I must go," replied Paul, "although I thank you for the courtesy."

"But we cannot part with you now," said the Spaniard, "you are on Spanish
soil. Others of your kind may be near, also, and you and they have come,
uninvited. I would know more about it."

"You mean that you will detain me?" said Paul in surprise.

The Spaniard delicately stroked his pointed beard.

"Perhaps that is the word," he replied. "As I said, you have trespassed
upon our domain, and I must hold you, for a time, at least. I know not
what plot is afoot"

"As a prisoner?"

"If you wish to call it so."

"And yet there is no war between your country and mine!"

The Spaniard delicately stroked his pointed beard again.

Paul looked at him accusingly, and Francisco Alvarez unable to sustain his
straight gaze, turned his eyes aside. But Braxton Wyatt's face was full of
triumph, although he kept silent.

Paul thought rapidly. It seemed to him a traitorous design and he did not
doubt that Wyatt had instigated it, but he must submit at present. He was
powerless inside a ring of fifty soldiers. Without a word, he sat down
again on the little grassy knoll and it pleased Alvarez to affect a great
politeness, and to play with his prisoner as a cat with a mouse. He
insisted that he eat and he made his men bring him the tenderest of food,
deer meat and wild turkey, and fish, freshly caught. Finally he opened a
flask and poured wine in a small silver cup.

"It is the wine of Xeres, Senor Cotter," he said, "and you can judge how
precious it is, as it must be a full five thousand miles from its
birthplace."

He handed the little cup in grandiose manner to Paul, and Paul, meeting
his humor, accepted it in like fashion. He had not tasted wine often in
his life and he found it a strong fluid, but, in this crisis, it