nations are at peace, and to urge you not to help savages in a war upon
white people."

"I do not approve of rebels," said Alvarez.

Paul was silent. He felt instinctively that his mission had failed.
Something cold and cruel about the Spaniard repelled him, and he believed,
too, that Braxton Wyatt had not been without a sinister influence.

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, Señor 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."