"Weel-le-am," she said gravely, "you are far from your friends."

Ned bent his head in assent. Her simple words made him feel that he was
indeed far from his own land and surrounded by a thousand perils. The
woman did not speak again and they moved on with an even stroke down the
canal which had an uniform width of about thirty feet. They were still
passing houses of stone and others of adobe, but before they had gone a
mile they were halted by a sharp command from the shore. An officer and
three soldiers, one of whom held a lantern, stood on the bank.

Ned had expected that they would be stopped. These were revolutionary
times and people could not go in or out of the city unnoticed.
Particularly was La Viga guarded. He knew that his fate now rested with
Benito Igarritos and his wife Juana, but he trusted them. The officer
was peremptory, but the bergantin was most innocent in appearance.
Merely a humble vegetable boat returning down La Viga after a successful
day in the city. "Your family?" Ned heard the officer say to Benito, as
he flashed the lantern in turn upon every one.

Taciturn, like most men of the oppressed races, Benito nodded, while his
wife sat silent in her great red and yellow reboso. Ned leaned
carelessly upon the oar, but his face was well hid by the sombrero, and
his heart was throbbing. When the light of the lantern passed over him
he felt as if he were seared by a flame, but the officer had no
suspicion, and with a gruff "Pass on" he withdrew from the bank with his
men. Benito nodded to Ned and they pulled again into the center of La
Viga. Neither spoke. Nor did the woman.

Ned bent on the oar with renewed strength. He felt that the greatest of
his dangers was now passed, and the relief of the spirit brought fresh