apologizing, pushed it open. His pony, he explained, had gone lame, and
he must have another, and at once. The landlord shrugged his shoulders.
These were war times, he said, and the American officer could take what
he liked. They in Caguan were non-combatants and could not protest.
Chesterton hastened to reassure him. The war, he announced, was over,
and were it not, he was no officer to issue requisitions. He intended to
pay for the pony. He unbuckled his belt and poured upon the table a
handful of Spanish _doubloons_. The landlord lowered the candle and
silently counted the gold pieces, and then calling to him two of his
fellow-villagers, crossed the tiny plaza and entered the corral.

"The American pig," he whispered, "wishes to buy a pony. He tells me the
war is over; that Spain has surrendered. We know that must be a lie. It
is more probable he is a deserter. He claims he is a civilian, but that
also is a lie, for he is in uniform. You, Paul, sell him your pony, and
then wait for him at the first turn in the trail, and take it from him."

"He is armed," protested the one called Paul.

"You must not give him time to draw his revolver," ordered the landlord.
"You and Pedro will shoot him from the shadow. He is our country's
enemy, and it will be in a good cause. And he may carry despatches. If
we take them the commandante at Mayaguez he will reward us."

"And the gold pieces?" demanded the one called Paul.

"We will divide them in three parts," said the landlord.

In the front of the inn, surrounded by a ghost-like group that spoke its
suspicions, Chesterton was lifting his saddle from El Capitan and