To put it into a state of defence is not possible, but
they can make it look stronger, and it will be better than the open
jungle if those mongrel scoundrels do come on. Winks is there with
half-a-dozen men; join them and superintend. Make them stick to it
hard. I am afraid of their thinking that there is no danger, and taking
it too coolly."

"All right, father," said Poole, giving Fitz a glance as he stood ready
for starting off.

"Oh, by the way, Mr Burnett, I am sorry to have got you into this
trouble. It doesn't seem the thing, does it? But I can't help myself.
I daren't let you get into the hands of the enemy, for they are a shady
lot. Only please mind this; you are a looker-on, and you are not to
fight."

"Of course not, sir," cried Fitz.

"Well, don't forget it. Let's have none of your getting excited and
joining in, if the row does begin. But it's hardly likely. If the
scoundrels see a strong-looking place they will give it a wide berth.
But if they do come, just bear this in mind; you are a spectator, and
not to fire a shot."

"I shall not forget my position, sir," said Fitz quietly. "That's
right. You can't be in a safer place than in the shelter of Ramon's
farm. Off with you, Poole. I will join you soon."

The two lads trotted off, and as they ran on side by side, Fitz said
rather testily--

"Your father needn't have talked to me like that. 'Tisn't likely that I
should join in such a fight as this."

"Of course not," said Poole coolly; "only you look rather warlike
carrying that double gun."

"Absurd! A sporting piece, loaded with small shot!" cried Fitz.

"Not so very small," said Poole, laughing. "I shouldn't like it to be
loaded with them by any one firing at me. Oh, there's the hacienda
yonder. I heard of this place when I was here before. It's a sort of
summer-house near the river and sea, where Don Ramon used to come. My
word, though, how it seems to have been knocked about! It looks as if
there had been fighting here. The grounds have all been trampled down,
and the porch has been torn away."

"What a pity!" cried Fitz, as he trotted up, with his gun at the trail.
"It must have been a lovely place. Oh, there are some of our men."

"Yes," said Poole, smiling to himself and giving a little emphasis to
one word which he repeated; "there are some of `our' men. Look at old
Chips scratching his head."

For the carpenter on hearing their approach had stepped out into