After riding for an hour Aiken warned me that at any moment we were
likely to come upon either Laguerre or the soldiers of Alvarez. "So
you keep your eyes and ears open," he said, "and when they challenge
throw up your hands quick. The challenge is 'Halt, who lives,'" he
explained. "If it is a government soldier you must answer, 'The
government.' But if it's one of Laguerre's or Garcia's pickets you
must say 'The revolution lives.' And whatever else you do, _hold up
your hands._"

I rehearsed this at once, challenging myself several times, and giving
the appropriate answers. The performance seemed to afford Aiken much
amusement.

"Isn't that right?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "but the joke is that you won't be able to tell which
is the government soldier and which is the revolutionist, and you'll
give the wrong answer, and we'll both get shot."

"I can tell by our uniform," I answered.

"Uniform!" exclaimed Aiken, and burst into the most uproarious
laughter. "Rags and tatters," he said.

I was considerably annoyed to learn by this that the revolutionary
party had no distinctive uniform. The one worn by the government
troops which I had seen at the coast I had thought bad enough, but it
was a great disappointment to hear that we had none at all. Ever since
I had started from Dobbs Ferry I had been wondering what was the
Honduranian uniform. I had promised myself to have my photograph taken