The Cubans, who had momentarily been stricken dumb with amazement, suddenly broke into voluble speech.  The clamor served to attract Colonel Lopez, who was riding past.

“What’s the matter here?” he demanded, forcing his horse through the ring which had formed about El Demonio and his bundle.  One startled look and the colonel flung himself out of his saddle.  “Whose baby is that?” he demanded.

“I—­I—­Why, it’s mine.  I mean, I—­” Branch’s eyes were glued upon the child in horrified fascination.  He choked and stammered and waved his hands impotently.

“Come, come!  Speak up!  What does this mean?” Lopez’s voice grew stern.

“She must have be-been asleep.  I just grabbed—­You know.  I—­” Branch’s face became suddenly stricken.  “Look out!” he shouted, hoarsely.  “She’s going to cry, or something.”

He was right; the baby showed every sign of a firm determination to voice her indignation at the outrage she had suffered.  Her hand stole out of her mouth, her fists closed, her face puckered ominously.  Lopez stooped, wrapped her in a sheet, then took her awkwardly in his arms.  He bent a blazing glance upon the kidnapper, but he had no chance to speak before the storm of wailings broke.

News of Leslie’s exploit was spreading.  Men were shouting and gesticulating to their comrades to come and see El Demonio’s spoils.  There was a great chattering and crowding and no little smothered laughter.  Meanwhile, Colonel Lopez was using every desperate device to soothe the infant, but without success.  At last he strode up to Leslie and extended his burden.

“Here,” he said, harshly, “she’s yours.  I surrender her.”

Leslie drew back.  “No, you don’t!  I wouldn’t touch her for a thousand dollars!” he cried.

But Lopez was firm.  He spoke in a tone of command:  “Do as I tell you.  Take her.  A fine outrage, to steal a baby!  What are we going to do with her?  We can’t send her back—­the town is crazy.  I’ve no doubt I shall hear from this.”

In spite of Leslie’s choking protests, in spite of his feeble resistance, Lopez pressed the noisy stranger into his arms, then turned to his men and directed them to be off.

Branch remained motionless.  He was stupefied; he held the baby gingerly, not daring to put it down, dreading to keep it; his eyes were rolling, he began to perspire freely.  Stretching a timid, detaining hand toward Lopez, he inquired, huskily, “What shall I do with her?”

“God knows.  I don’t,” snapped the officer.  “I shall have to think, but meanwhile I hold you responsible for her.  Come now, we must be going.”

Leslie swallowed hard; his face became overspread with a sicklier pallor.  “What’ll I do—­when she gets hungry?”

Lopez could not restrain a smile.  ’You should have thought about that, compadre.  Well, I know where there is a milk cow not three leagues from here.  I’ll send a man to borrow it from the owner and drive it to our camp.  Or perhaps”—­his handsome face hardened again—­“perhaps you would prefer to take this child back where you found it?”