``Certainly not,'' Clay answered, warmly. ``This is the carriage
of an American, the president of the mines. His daughters are
inside and on their way to visit the residence of Senor
Palacio. They are foreigners--Americans. We are all
foreigners, and we have a perfect right to leave the city
when we choose. You can only stop us when we enter it.''

The officer looked uncertainly from Clay to Hope and up at the
driver on the box. His eyes fell upon the heavy brass mountings
of the harness. They bore the arms of Olancho. He wheeled
sharply and called to his men inside the post-house, and they
stepped out from the veranda and spread themselves leisurely
across the road.

``Ride him down, Clay,'' Langham muttered, in a whisper. The
officer did not understand the words, but he saw Clay gather the
reins tighter in his hands and he stepped back quickly to the
safety of the porch, and from that ground of vantage smiled
pleasantly.

``Pardon,'' he said, ``there is no need for blows when one is
rich enough to pay. A little something for myself and a drink
for my brave fellows, and you can go where you please.''

``Damned brigands,'' growled Langham, savagely.

``Not at all,'' Clay answered. ``He is an officer and a
gentleman. I have no money with me,'' he said, in Spanish,
addressing the officer, ``but between caballeros a word of honor
is sufficient. I shall be returning this way to-morrow morning,