"A sharpshooter. I have just disarmed him."
"A sharpshooter! Why don't you fill him with lead?"
"I can't do that—now he is my prisoner. Besides, I don't want to arouse the whole neighborhood."
"Is he alone?"
"His friends are not far off."
"What are you going to do?"
"I hardly know. I can't take him and you both into camp, and I can't let him go."
"No, no, don't let him go. He'll bring the whole nest around our ears in no time."
"Put your hands up," said Ben to the prisoner, as best he could in Spanish. "And be careful of what you do, or I'll fire on you."
The language was understood, and the sharpshooter put up his dirty hands sullenly. Then Ben made him move into the hollow and sit down on a rock. The Tagal had now no weapon but a short knife, and this the young captain took from him.
"How many sharpshooters around here?" Ben asked.
"I do not know," was the short reply.
"Were you ordered to stay here all day?"
"No; we stay here so long as it pleases us."
