“I met him at the reception to Commodore Stockton,” said the man who rode beside Bartlett.  “He didn’t impress me as a timid chap, exactly.  Something of a fire-eater, I’d have said.”

“Oh, they’re all fire-eaters—­on the surface,” Bartlett’s tone was disdainful.  “But you may all judge for yourselves in a moment.  For, if I’m not mistaken, he’s coming up the road to meet us.”

“By jove, he sits his horse like a king,” said Bartlett’s companion, admiringly.  “Who are those chaps with him?  Looks like a sort of—­reception committee.”

“They are Guerrero and Vasquez and—­oh, yes, young Benito Windham,” Bartlett answered.  He spurred his horse and the others followed; there was something about the half careless formation of the four riders ahead which vaguely troubled the alcalde.

“Buenos dias, caballeros,” he saluted in his faulty Spanish.

“Buenos dias, senors,” Sanchez spoke with unusual crispness.  “You have come for horses, doubtless, amigo alcalde?”

“Ah—­er—­yes,” said Bartlett.  “The necessities of war are great,” he added apologetically.

“And suppose we refuse?” Benito Windham pressed forward, blazing out the words in passionate anger.  “Suppose we deny your manufactured requisitions?  Whence came the horse you sit like a very clown?  I will tell you, tyrant and despoiler.  It was stolen from my mother by your thieves.”

“Benito, hold your peace,” said Sanchez sternly.  “I will deal with this good gentleman and his friends.  They shall be our guests for a time.”

As though the words had been a signal, five lariats descended apparently from a clear sky, each falling over the head of a member of Bartlett’s party.  They settled neatly and were tightened, pinning the arms of riders helplessly.

“Well done, amigos,” commented Sanchez as a quintet of grinning vaqueros rode up from the rear.  “As you have so aptly said, the necessities of war are paramount, alcalde.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” demanded Bartlett.  “Release us instantly, or you shall suffer.  Do you think,” he sneered, “that a handful of greasers can defy the United States?”

“Perchance, with so important an official as the great Alcalde Bartlett for your hostage, we can reach a compromise on certain points,” said Sanchez.  “Come, you shall suffer no hardship, if you accept the situation reasonably.”

“I warn you that this means death or imprisonment to all of you,” Bartlett shouted.

“Ah, senor, the risks of war are many.”  Sanchez’ teeth flashed.  He clucked to his horse and the little cavalcade wound, single-file, up a narrow horse-trail toward the hills.

They passed many bands of horsemen, all armed, saluting Sanchez as their chief.  Among them were owners and vaqueros from a score of ranches.  There was something grim, determined in their manner which foreboded serious trouble.

One of Bartlett’s fellow-captives leaned toward him, whispering:  “Those fellows mean business.  They’re like hornets if you stir ’em up too far, these greasers.”