The climb to the top of the bank was not difficult, and, once over it, the road he had mentioned lay almost at our feet. We ran down to it with lighter hearts than we had had for some time, and struck out boldly, eating a light breakfast as we trudged along.
“I hope we strike no more adventures until the vicinity of Guantanamo is reached,” I observed.
“We can hardly hope for that, Mark,” smiled my chum. “Remember we are journeying through a country where war is raging. Let us be thankful if we escape the battles and skirmishes.”
“And shooting down by some ambitious sharpshooter,” I added. “By the way, I wonder if our folks are looking for us?”
“It may be they sent word not to come, when they saw how matters were going, Mark. I am sure your father would not want you to run the risk that——Look! look! We must hide!”
Alano stopped short, caught me by the arm, and pointed ahead. Around a turn in the road a dozen horsemen had swept, riding directly toward us. A glance showed that they were Spanish guerrillas!
FOOLING THE SPANISH GUERRILLAS.
“Halte!”
It was the cry of the nearest of the Spanish horsemen. He had espied us just as Alano let out his cry of alarm, and now he came galloping toward us at a rapid gait.
“Let us run!” I ejaculated to my Cuban chum. “It is our only chance.”
“Yes, yes! but to where?” he gasped, staring around in bewilderment. On one side of the road was a woods of mahogany, on the other some palms and plantains, with here and there a great rock covered with thick vines.
“Among the rocks—anywhere!” I returned. “Come!” And, catching his hand, I led the way from the road while the horseman was yet a hundred feet from us.
Another cry rang out—one I could not understand, and a shot followed, clipping through the broad leaves over our heads. The horseman left the road, but soon came to a stop, his animal’s progress blocked by the trees and rocks. He yelled to his companions, and all of the guerrillas came up at topmost speed.
“They will dismount and be after us in a minute!” gasped Alano. “Hark! they are coming already!”
“On! on!” I urged. “We’ll find some hiding-place soon.”
Around the rocks and under the low-hanging plantains we sped, until the road was left a hundred yards behind. Then we came to a gully, where the vegetation was heavy. Alano pointed down to it.
“We can hide there,” he whispered. “But we will be in danger of snakes. Yet it is the best we can do.”
I hesitated. To make the acquaintanceship of a serpent in that dense grass was not pleasant to contemplate. But what else was there to do? The footsteps of our pursuers sounded nearer.
Down went Alano, making leaps from rock to rock, so that no trail would be left. I followed at his heels, and, coming to a rock which was partly hollowed out at one side and thickly overgrown, we crouched under it and pulled the vines and creepers over us.
It was a damp, unwholesome spot, but there was no help for it, and when several enormous black beetles dropped down and crawled around my neck I shut my lips hard to keep from crying out. We must escape from the enemy, no matter what the cost, for even if they did not makeus prisoners we knew they would take all we possessed and even strip the coats from our backs.
Peering from between the vines, we presently caught sight of three of the Spaniards standing at the top of the gully, pistols in hand, on the alert for a sight of us. They were dark, ugly-looking fellows, with heavy black mustaches and faces which had not had a thorough washing in months. They were dressed in the military uniform of Spain, and carried extra bags of canvas slung from their shoulders, evidently meant for booty. That they were tough customers Alano said one could tell by their vile manner of speech.
“Do you see them, Carlo?” demanded one of the number. “I thought they went down this hollow?”
“I see nothing,” was the answer, coupled with a vile exclamation. “They disappeared as if by magic.”
“They were but boys.”
“Never mind, they were rebels—that is enough,” put in the third guerrilla, as he chewed his mustache viciously. “I wish I could get a shot at them.”
At this Alano pulled out his pistol and motioned for me to do the same.
“We may as well be prepared for the worst,”he whispered into my ear. “They are not soldiers, they are robbers—bandits.”
“They look bad enough for anything,” I answered, and produced my weapon, which I had not discharged since the brush with the alligator.
“If they are in the hollow it is odd we do not see them on their trail,” went on one of the bandits. “Perhaps they went around.”
His companions shook their heads.
“I’ll thrash around a bit,” said one of them; and, leaving the brink of the gully, he started straight for our hiding-place.
My heart leaped into my throat, and I feared immediate discovery. As for Alano, he shoved his pistol under his coat, and I heard a muffled click as the hammer was raised.
When within ten feet of us the ugly fellow stopped, and I fairly held my breath, while my heart appeared to beat like a trip-hammer. He looked squarely at the rock which sheltered us, and I could not believe he would miss discovering us. Once he started and raised his pistol, and I imagined our time had come; but then he turned to one side, and I breathed easier.
“They did not come this way,capitan!” he shouted. “Let us go around the hollow.”
In another moment all three of the banditswere out of sight. We heard them moving in the undergrowth behind us, and one of them gave a scream as a snake was stirred up and dispatched with a saber. Then all became quiet.
“What is best to do now?” I asked, when I thought it safe to speak.
“Hush!” whispered Alano. “They may be playing us dark.”
A quarter of an hour passed,—it seemed ten times that period of time just then,—and we heard them coming back. They were very angry at their want of success; and had we been discovered, our fate would undoubtedly have been a hard one. They stalked back to the road, and a moment later we heard the hoof-strokes of their horses receding in the distance.
“Hurrah!” I shouted, but in a very subdued tone. “That’s the time we fooled them, Alano.”
My Cuban chum smiled grimly. “Yes, Mark, but we must be more careful in the future. Had we not been so busy talking we might have heard their horses long before they came into view. However, the scare is over, so let us put our best foot forward once again.”
“If only we had horses too!” I sighed. “My feet are beginning to get sore from the uneven walking.”
“Horses would truly be convenient at times. But we haven’t them, and must make the best of it. When we stop for our next meal you had best take off your boots and bathe your feet. You will be astonished how much rest that will afford them.”
I followed this advice, and found Alano was right; and after that I bathed my feet as often as I got the chance. Alano suffered no inconvenience in this particular, having climbed the hills since childhood.
We were again on rising ground, and now passed through a heavy wood of cedars, the lower branches sweeping our hats as we passed. This thick shade was very acceptable, for the glare of the sun had nearly blinded me, while more than once I felt as if I would faint from the intense heat.
“It’s not such a delightful island as I fancied it,” I said to my chum. “I much prefer the United States.”
“That depends,” laughed Alano. “The White Mountains or the Adirondacks are perhaps nicer, but what of the forests and everglades in Florida?”
“Just as bad as this, I suppose.”
“Yes, and worse, for the ground is wetter, I believe. But come, don’t lag. We must make several more miles before we rest.”
We proceeded up a hill and across a level space which was somewhat cleared of brush and trees. Beyond we caught sight of a thatched hut. Hardly had it come into view than from its interior we heard a faint cry for help.
ANDRES.
“What is that?” ejaculated Alano, stopping short and catching my arm.
“A cry of some kind,” I answered. “Listen!”
We stepped behind some trees, to avoid any enemies who might be about, and remained silent. Again came the cry.
“It is a man in distress!” said Alano presently. “He asks us not to desert him.”
“Then he probably saw us from the window of the hut. What had we best do?”
“You remain here, and I will investigate,” rejoined my Cuban chum.
With caution he approached the thatched hut, a miserable affair, scarcely twelve feet square and six feet high, with the trunks of palm trees as the four corner-posts. There were one tiny window and a narrow door, and Alano after some hesitation entered the latter, pistol in hand.
“Come, Mark!” he cried presently, and I ran forward and joined him.
A pitiable scene presented itself. Closely bound to a post which ran up beside the window was a Cuban negro of perhaps fifty years of age, gray-haired and wrinkled. He was scantily clothed, and the cruel green-hide cords which bound him had cut deeply into his flesh, in many places to such an extent that the blood was flowing. The negro’s tongue was much swollen, and the first thing he begged for upon being released was a drink of water.
We obtained the water, and also gave him what we could to eat, for which he thanked us over and over again, and would have kissed our hands had we permitted it. He was a tall man, but so thin he looked almost like a skeleton.
“For two days was I tied up,” he explained to Alano, in his Spanishpatois. “I thought I would die of hunger and thirst, when, on raising my eyes, I beheld you and your companion. Heaven be praised for sending you! Andres will never forget you for your goodness, never!”
“And how came you in this position?” questioned my chum.
“Ah, dare I tell, master?”
“You are a rebel?”
The negro lowered his eyes and was silent.
“If you are, you have nothing to fear from us,” continued Alano.
“Ah—good! good!” Andres wrung his hand.“Yes, I am a rebel. For two years I fought under our good General Maceo and under Garcia. But I am old, I cannot climb the mountains as of yore, and I got sick and was sent back. The Spanish soldiers followed me, robbed me of what little I possessed, and, instead of shooting me, bound me to the post as a torture. Ah, but they are a cruel set!” And the eyes of the negro glowed wrathfully. “If only I was younger!”
“Were the Spaniards on horseback?” asked Alano.
“Yes, master—a dozen of them.”
Alano described the bandits we had met, and Andres felt certain they must be the same crowd. The poor fellow could scarcely stand, and sank down on a bed of cedar boughs and palm branches. We did what we could for him, and in return he invited us to make his poor home our own.
There was a rude fireplace behind the hut, and here hung a great iron pot. Rekindling the fire, we set the pot to boiling; and Andres hobbled around to prepare a soup, or rather broth, made of green plantains, rice, and a bit of dried meat the bandits had not discovered, flavoring the whole mess with garlic. The dish was not particularly appetizing to me, but I was tremendously hungry and made way with a fairshare of it, while Alano apparently enjoyed his portion.
It was dark when the meal was finished, and we decided to remain at the hut all night, satisfied that we would be about as secure there as anywhere. The smoke of the smoldering fire kept the mosquitoes and gnats at a distance, and Andres found for us a couple of grass hammocks, which, when slung from the corner-posts, made very comfortable resting-places.
During the evening Alano questioned Andres closely, and learned that General Garcia was pushing on toward Guantanamo, as we had previously been informed. Andres did not know Señor Guerez, but he asserted that many planters throughout the district had joined the rebel forces, deserting their canefields and taking all of their help with them.
“The men are poorly armed,” he continued. “Some have only their canefield knives—but even with these they are a match for the Spanish soldiers, on account of their bravery”—an assertion which later on proved, for the greater part, to be true.
The night passed without an alarm of any kind, and before sunrise we were stirring around, preparing a few small fish Alano had been lucky enough to catch in a near-by mountain stream. These fish Andres baked by rolling them in acasing of clay; and never have I eaten anything which tasted more delicious.
Before we left him the Cuban negro gave us minute directions for reaching the rear guard of the rebel army. He said the password was still “Maysi.”
“You had better join the army,” he said, on parting. “You will gain nothing by trying to go around. And you, master Alano—if your father has joined the forces, it may be that will gain you a horse and full directions as to just where your parent is,” and as we trudged off Andres wished us Godspeed and good luck over and over again, with a friendly wave of his black bony hand.
The cool spell, although it was really only cool by contrast, had utterly passed, and as the sun came up it seemed to fairly strike one a blow upon the head. We were traveling along the edge of a low cliff, and shade was scarce, although we took advantage of every bit which came in our way. The perspiration poured from our faces, necks, and hands; and about ten o’clock I was forced to call a halt and throw myself on my back on the ground.
“I knew it would be so,” said my chum. "That is why I called for an early start. We might as well rest until two or three in the afternoon.Very few people travel here in the heat of the day."
“It is suffocating,” I murmured. “Like one great bake-oven and steam-laundry combined.”
“That is what makes the vegetation flourish,” he smiled. “Just see how it grows!”
I did not have far to look to notice it. Before us was a forest of grenadillo and rosewood, behind us palms and plantains, with an occasional cacao and mahogany tree. The ground was covered with long grass and low brush, and over all hung the festoons of vines of many colors, some blooming profusely. A smell of “something growing green” filled the hot air, and from every side arose the hum of countless insects and the occasional note of a bird.
“I wouldn’t remain on the ground too long,” remarked Alano presently. “When one is hot and lies down, that is the time to take on a fever. Better rest in yonder tree—it is more healthy; and, besides, if there is any breeze stirring, there is where you will catch it.”
“We might as well be on a deserted island as to be in Cuba,” I said, after both of us had climbed into a mahogany tree. “There is not a building nor a human soul in sight. I half believe we are lost again.”
Alano smiled. "Let us rather say, as yourIndian said, 'We are not lost, we are here. The army and the towns and villages are lost,'" and he laughed at the old joke, which had been the first he had ever read, in English, in a magazine at Broxville Academy.
“Well, it’s just as bad, Alano. I, for one, am tired of tramping up hill and down. If we could reach the army and get a couple of horses, it would be a great improvement.”
My chum was about to reply to this, when he paused and gave a start. And I started, too, when I saw what was the trouble. On a limb directly over us, and ready to descend upon our very heads, was a serpent all of six feet in length!
ACROSS THE CANEFIELDS.
“Look, Mark!” ejaculated Alano.
“A snake!” I yelled. “Drop! drop!”
I had already dropped to the limb upon which I had been sitting. Now, swinging myself by the hands, I let go and descended to the ground, a distance of twelve or fifteen feet.
In less than a second my Cuban chum came tumbling after me. The fall was no mean one, and had the grass under the tree been less deep we might have suffered a sprained ankle or other injury. As it was, we both fell upon our hands and knees.
Gazing up at the limb we had left, we saw the serpent glaring down at us, its angry eyes shining like twin diamonds. How evil its intention had been we could but surmise. It was possible it had intended to attack us both. It slid from the upper limb to the lower, and stretched out its long, curling neck, while it emitted a hiss that chilled my blood.
“It’s coming down! Run!” I began; when bang! went Alano’s pistol, and I saw the serpent give a quiver, and coil and uncoil itself aroundthe limb. The bullet had entered its neck, but it was not fatally wounded; and now it came for us, landing in the grass not a dozen feet from where we stood.
Luckily, while traveling along the hills, we had provided ourselves with stout sticks to aid us in climbing. These lay near, and, picking one up, I stood on the defensive, certain the reptile would not dare to show much fight. But it did, and darted for me with its dull-colored head raised a few inches out of the grass.
With all of the strength at my command I swung the stick around the instant it came within reach. It tried to dodge, but failed; and, struck in the neck, turned over and over as though more than half stunned.
By this time Alano had secured the second stick, and now he rushed in and belabored the serpent over the head and body until it was nearly beaten into a jelly. I turned sick at the sight, and was glad enough when it was all over and the reptile was dead beyond all question.
“That was a narrow escape!” I panted. “Alano, don’t you advise me to rest in a tree again. I would rather run the risk of fever ten times over.”
“Serpents are just as bad in the grass,” he replied simply. “Supposing he had come up when you were flat on your back!”
“Let us get away from here—there may be more. And throw away that stick—it may have poison on it.”
“That serpent was not poisonous, Mark. But I will throw it away,—it is so covered with blood,—and we can easily cut new ones.”
The excitement had made me forget the heat, and we went on for over a mile. Then, coming to a mountain stream, we sat down to take it easy until the sun had passed the zenith and it was a trifle cooler.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, or evening, as they call it in Cuba, we reached the end of the woods and came to the edge of an immense sugar-cane field. The cane waved high over our heads, so that what buildings might be beyond were cut off from view. There was a rough cart-road through the field, and after some hesitation we took to this, it being the only road in sight.
We had traveled on a distance of half a mile when we reached a series of storehouses, each silent and deserted. Beyond was a house, probably belonging to the overseer of the plantation, and this was likewise without occupant, the windows and doors shut tightly and bolted.
“All off to the war, I suppose,” I said. “And I had half an idea we might get a chance to sleep in a bed to-night.”
“We might take possession,” Alano suggested.
But to this proposition I shook my head. “We might be caught and shot as intruders. Come on. Perhaps the house of the owner is further on.”
Stopping for a drink at an old-fashioned well, we went on through the sugar cane until we reached a small stream, beyond which was a boggy spot several acres in extent.
“We’ll have to go around, Alano,” I said. “Which way will be best?”
“The ground appears to rise to our left,” he answered. “We’ll try in that direction.”
Pushing directly through the cane, I soon discovered, was no mean work. It was often well-nigh impossible to break aside the stout stalks, and the stubble underfoot was more than trying to the feet. We went on a distance of a hundred yards, and then on again to the stream, only to find the same bog beyond.
“We’ll have to go further yet,” said Alano. “Come, Mark, ere the sun gets too low.”
“Just a few minutes of rest,” I pleaded, and pulled down the top of a cane. The sweet juice was exceedingly refreshing, but it soon caused a tremendous thirst, which I gladly slaked at the not over clear stream. Another jog ofquarter of an hour, and we managed to cross at a point which looked like solid ground.
“How far do you suppose this field extends?” I asked.
“I have no idea; perhaps but a short distance, and then again it may be a mile or more. Some of the plantations out here are very large.”
“Do you think we can get back to the road? I can’t go much further through this stubble.”
“I’ll break the way, Mark. You follow me.”
On we went in the direction we imagined the trail to be, but taking care to avoid the bog. I was almost ready to drop from exhaustion, when Alano halted.
“Mark!”
“What now, Alano?”
“Do you know where we are?”
“In a sugar-cane field,” I said, trying to keep up my courage.
“Exactly, but we are lost in it.”
I stared at him.
“Can one become lost in a sugar-cane field?” I queried.
“Yes, and badly lost, for there is nothing one can climb to take a view of the surroundings. Even if you were to get upon my shoulders you could see but little.”
“I’ll try it,” I answered, and did so without delay, for the sun was now sinking in the west.
But my chum had been right; try my best I could not look across the waving cane-tops. We were hedged in on all sides, with only the setting sun to mark our course.
“It’s worse than being out on an open prairie,” I remarked. “What shall we do?”
“There is but one thing—push on,” rejoined Alano gravely; “unless you want to spend a night here.”
Again we went on, but more slowly, for even my chum was now weary. The wet ground passed, we struck another reach of upland, and this gave us hope, for we knew the sugar cane would not grow up the hills. But the rise soon came to an end, and we found ourselves going down into a worse hollow than that we had left. Ere we knew it, the water was forming around our boots.
“We must go back!” I cried.
“I think it is drier a few yards beyond,” said Alano. “Don’t go back yet.”
The sun had set, so far as we were concerned, and it was dark at the foot of the cane-stalks. We plowed on, getting deeper and deeper into the bog or mire. It was a sticky paste, and I could hardly move one foot after another. I called to Alano to halt, and I had scarcely done so when he uttered an ejaculation of disgust.
“What is it?” I called.
“I can’t move—I am stuck!”
I looked ahead and saw that he spoke the truth. He had sunk to the tops of his boots, and every effort to extricate himself only made him settle deeper.
I endeavored to gain his side and aid him, but it was useless. Ere I was aware I was as deep and deeper than Alano, and there we stood,—and stuck,—unable to help ourselves, with night closing rapidly in upon us.
A COUNCIL OF THE ENEMY.
“Well, this is the worst yet,” I said, after a minute of silence. Somehow, I felt like laughing, yet our situation was far from being a laughing matter.
“We have put our foot into it, and no mistake,” rejoined Alano dubiously.
“Say feet, Alano,—and legs,—and you’ll be nearer it. What on earth is to be done?”
“I don’t know. See, I am up to my thighs already. In an hour or so I’ll be up to my neck.”
To this I made no reply. I had drawn my pistol, and with the crook of the handle was endeavoring to hook a thick sugar-cane stalk within my reach. Several times I had the stalk bent over, but it slipped just as I was on the point of grasping it.
But I persevered,—there was nothing else to try,—and at last my eager fingers encircled the stalk. I put my pistol away and pulled hard, and was overjoyed to find that I was drawing myself up out of my unpleasant position.
“Be careful—or the stalk will break,” cautioned my Cuban chum, when crack! it did split, but not before I was able to make a quick leap on top of the clump of roots. Here I sank again, but not nearly as deeply as before.
The leap I had taken had brought me closer to Alano, and now I was enabled to break down a number of stalks within his reach. He got a firm hold and pulled with all of his might, and a moment later stood beside me.
“Oh, but I’m glad we’re out of that!” were his first words. “I thought I was planted for the rest of my life.”
“We must get out of the field. See, it will be pitch dark in another quarter of an hour.”
“Let us try to go back—it will be best.”
We turned around, and took hold of each other’s hands, to balance ourselves on the sugar-cane roots, for we did not dare to step in the hollows between. Breaking down the cane was slow and laborious work, and soon it was too dark to see our former trail. We lost it, but this was really to our advantage, for, by going it blindly for another quarter of an hour, we emerged into an opening nearly an acre square and on high and dry ground.
Once the patch was reached, we threw ourselves down on the grass panting for breath, the heavy perspiration oozing from every pore.We had had another narrow escape, and silently I thanked Heaven for my deliverance.
Toward the higher end of the clearing was a small hut, built of logs plastered with sun-baked clay. We came upon it by accident in the dark, and, finding it deserted, lit our bit of candle before mentioned and made an examination.
“It’s a cane-cutter’s shanty,” said Alano. “I don’t believe anybody will be here to-night, so we might as well remain and make ourselves comfortable.”
“We can do nothing else,” I returned. “We can’t travel in the darkness.”
Both of us were too exhausted to think of building a fire or preparing a meal. We ate some of our provisions out of our hands, pulled off our water-soaked boots, and were soon asleep on the heaps of stalks the shanty contained. Once during the night I awoke to find several species of vermin crawling around, but even this was not sufficient to make me rouse up against the pests. I lay like a log, and the sun was shining brightly when Alano shook me heartily by the shoulder.
“Going to sleep all day?” he queried.
“Not much!” I cried, springing up. “Hullo, if you haven’t got breakfast ready!” I added, glancing to where he had built a fire.
“Yes; I thought I’d let you sleep for a while,”he answered. “Fall to, and we’ll be on our way. If we have good luck we may strike a part of General Garcia’s army to-day.”
“If we can get out of this beastly canefield.”
“I’ve found a way out, Mark. Finish your meal, and I’ll show you.”
Breakfast was speedily dispatched, and, having put on my boots, which were stiff and hard from the wetting received, and taken up my valise, I followed Alano to the extreme southwest end of the clearing. Here there was an ox-cart trail, leading in a serpentine fashion through the canefield to still higher ground. Beyond were the inevitable rocks and woods.
“We seem to have missed everything,” I said pointedly. “We have been lost several times, and even now we don’t know where we are.”
“We know we’re not sinking to the bottom of that sugar-cane field,” replied my Cuban chum grimly. “That’s something to be thankful for. Ah, look—there is quite a respectable-looking highway. Let us take to that and keep our eyes and ears open. It must lead to somewhere.”
We had reached the highway at right-angles, and now we pursued a course directly eastward, which we felt must bring us closer and closer to the vicinity of Guantanamo. I asked Alano ifhe recognized the country at all, but he shook his head.
“I was never out in this direction,” he explained. “My journeys have always been from Guantanamo to Santiago by water.”
As we progressed we passed several isolated huts, and then a village containing perhaps a score of dwellings. The separate huts were deserted without exception, but in the village we came across three tall and bony colored women, who eyed us with great suspicion.
Alano began to open a friendly conversation in Spanish with them, and offered to pay them well if they would get us up a good dinner. But this they could not do, for there was little to be had outside of some vegetables. They said they had had some meat, but it had all been confiscated by the soldiers who had passed through only the evening before.
“She means a body of Spanish soldiers,” said Alano, after some more talk with the oldest of the women. “She says there were about a hundred of them on horseback, and they were following up a detachment of General Garcia’s volunteers.”
“If that is so they can’t be far off,” I rejoined. “We must be more careful than ever.”
"If only we could catch up to them, getaround them, and warn our fellows!" remarked Alano, his black eyes sparkling.
“It’s easy to see you’re a rebel,” I said, laughing.
“And why not—if my father is one? Come, what do you say?”
“I am with you, if it can be done. But we mustn’t run into needless danger, Alano.”
“We will take care, Mark.”
Luckily, the sun had gone under the clouds, so it was not so warm when we resumed our journey, after the negro women had supplied us with the best meal at their command. They smiled broadly when Alano told them he was a rebel sympathizer, and each declared her husband had joined General Garcia’s army several weeks previously.
The road now led along the southern edge of a deep ravine, bordered upon either side with wild plantains and cacao trees, with here and there an occasional palm. The highway was stony, and presently Alano called a halt.
“Hark!” he said, holding up his hand; and we listened, to discern the tramping of horses' hoofs some distance ahead.
“There are a good many horses,” I said. “Perhaps it is the Spanish detachment.”
Alano nodded. “Follow me, and take to the woods if I hiss,” he replied.
On we went again, but slower than before. The road now wound around to the right, up under a cliff backed up by a small mountain. As the sun was behind the mountain, the path was dark in its more sheltered portions.
Suddenly Alano let out a soft hiss, and we leaped back behind a convenient rock.
“They are just ahead!” he cried softly. “They have quartered themselves for the middle of the day in a cave-like opening under the cliff, where it is, no doubt, cool and pleasant.”
“Well, what had we best do?”
“Get around them, by some means, Mark. But, hold up! Wouldn’t it be fine if we could draw close enough to overhear them—if they are talking over their plans!”
“It would be risky,” I hesitated.
“Yes, but think of the service we might do my countrymen!”
“That is true. Well, I’m with you, Alano, but for gracious' sake be careful!”
We talked the matter over for a few minutes, and then retraced our steps to where a narrow path led to the top of the cliff. Climbing this, we crawled along the edge of the cliff until we reached a spot directly over the encamped Spaniards.
They were a hearty, bold-looking set of men, handsomely uniformed and thoroughly armed,presenting a decided contrast to the dirty guerrillas we had previously encountered. A number of the soldiers were reclining upon the ground smoking, but a half-dozen of them, evidently officers, were gathered in a circle, conversing earnestly.
“They are holding a council of war!” cried Alano, after he had strained his ears to catch what was being said. “They are waiting for Captain Crabo to join them with another detachment, and then they are to aid some others in surrounding the left wing of General Garcia’s army, which is encamped in the valley on the other side of this mountain.”
A WILD RIDE ON HORSEBACK.
I was of course deeply interested in what Alano had to say, and my heart gave a sudden leap when he mentioned that General Garcia’s wing of the rebel army was so close at hand. Instantly I thought of my father. Was he in the ranks?
I was about to speak when my Cuban chum motioned me to silence. As cautiously as a cat he drew closer to the edge of the cliff, throwing himself flat on his face as he made the movement. I followed suit, knowing full well that I would scarcely be able to understand the council of war being held below, but anxious to get a better view of the soldiery we now considered our enemies.
Evidently the Spanish officers did not imagine any outsiders were near, for they spoke rather loudly, while each gesticulated a good deal in his own particular manner. Ten minutes passed, and then there came a pause. Alano touched me on the arm, and, as silently as we had advanced,we turned and retreated into the brush back of the cliff.
“I have their plans well in mind, Mark,” he whispered. “Oh, if only we could find General Garcia and tell him all!”
“Did you find out just where the general is located?”
“Pretty nearly—in that direction”—my Cuban chum waved his hand. “There is a ravine to cross and then a pass through the mountains. I believe the rebels now hold the pass, but the Spaniards mean to gain the high ground and hem them in. If they do that, my people will be slaughtered like cattle in a pen.”
“And supposing our fathers are with the rebels?” I put in quickly.
“Yes, I was thinking of that, Mark. We had best—— Hist!”
Alano stopped short. From a distance came the sounds of horses' hoofs.
“It must be Captain Crabo,” said Alano. “Lay low!”
We drew still further into the brush and waited. Nearer and nearer came the horses. Then came a shout and a sudden halting.
“They’ve challenged the newcomers,” whispered Alano, as we heard the words “Quien va?”
Evidently the reply was satisfactory, for in amoment more the new arrivals had joined the force under the cliff. Looking from our shelter, we saw that Captain Crabo was the same individual who had had us locked up in the smoke-house some days previously.
“We don’t want him to lay hands on us again,” I said, and Alano smiled grimly. “Why not get out at once?” I went on.
“Wait till I hear what Captain Crabo has to say, Mark. He may bring news, and we want to learn as much as we can. If they——”
My Cuban chum was forced to stop speaking, for with a quick movement I had placed a warning hand over his mouth. Some of the soldiers who had been resting were coming up the cliff, evidently to take a look at the surroundings.
“Come!” I whispered into Alano’s ear, and turned to retreat. He followed me, and a distance of fifty feet was covered through the undergrowth, when we found ourselves at the edge of another cliff and actually hemmed in by the advancing men.
What were we to do? It was a serious question, and one to be decided instantly. Already the foremost of the men was less than two rods behind us. We looked around for a place to hide, but none was at hand. Then Alano gave a cry.
“They are coming from the other direction too! We are lost!”
Scarcely had the words left his lips than we heard a yell from two of the Spanish soldiers. We were discovered, and all thoughts of further concealment in that hemmed-in spot were out of the question.
Hardly realizing what I was doing in my agitated frame of mind, I ran down to the very edge of the cliff at a point about a hundred and fifty feet above where the soldiers were encamped. Looking down I discovered a series of crags leading to the highway below. Here a score or more of horses were tethered to a mahogany tree.
“Come, it’s our only chance!” I ejaculated, and leaped for the nearest crag below me at the imminent peril of tumbling and breaking my neck.
Down I went, jumping and rolling from one projection of rocks to another, with Alano but a short distance behind me. I heard a command to stop, and then a shot, but paid no heed. With a final bump I reached the foot of the cliff, less than a dozen feet from where the horses were standing.
My sudden appearance startled several of the animals, and they plunged and broke their halters. But they did not run away, andthe fact that they were loose gave me another idea.
“The horses, Alano! Let us ride away on them!”
“Yes! yes!” he replied, and in a twinkle we had secured two of the nearest of the animals. We leaped into the saddle just as a second shot rang out. The bullet struck my horse a glancing blow on the flank, and off he tore up the highway as though dug with a spur.
I heard Alano coming behind me, but did not dare look back, for the highway was a poor one and my beast needed all of my attention. Fortunately, riding had been taught to me at Broxville Military Academy, so I felt fairly well at home in the saddle. Gathering up the reins, I sent the animal along at all the speed at his command. The shouting behind continued, but no more shots were fired, for the trees now hid both of us from our pursuers.
“That was a clever move,” cried Alano, as he presently ranged up beside me. “We have escaped them and provided ourselves with as good horses as one would wish to ride.”
“They will certainly follow us, Alano. We must see if we can’t throw them off the trail.”
“I see no side road.”
“Well, come on until we strike something.” I answered.
Forward we went, making both horses do their best. Half a mile was covered and we forded a small mountain torrent. As the animals paused to stick their noses into the cooling liquid, we listened and heard the Spaniards coming after us on the remainder of the animals.
“Quick!” cried Alano. “They have lost no time in following.”
“There is a side road, leading into the mountains,” I returned. “We had better take that.”
We turned off as I had advised, and it was not long before another half-mile was covered. Having reached an elevation of several hundred feet, the road became broad and tolerably level, and we went on faster than ever.
“We ought to be getting close to the rebel camp,” said Alano, a while later. “By the looks of the country we should be near that pass the rebels are supposed to be occupying.”
“I doubt if it is long before we strike some of your people now,” I answered. “But supposing we slack up a bit? The horses can’t stand this strain in the heat.”
“Oh, they are used to the heat. But we can take it easier if you say so. There isn’t any use of our riding ourselves sore the first day in the saddle.”
“I suppose they can put us down for horse thieves if they want to.”
“Not much, Mark. Why, it’s more than likely these horses were confiscated from my countrymen in the first place.”
Thus conversing, we galloped along for half a mile further. Then, as Alano paused to readjust his horse’s saddle, I fancied I heard some suspicious sounds behind us, and drew my chum’s attention to them.
“Horses!” cried Alano. “They must have found our trail, and are coming after us! Come ahead, or we’ll be captured after all!”
Once more we urged our animals forward. But not for long. Coming to a turn in the road, Alano yelled to me to halt, and pointed ahead.
I gave a groan as I looked. A mountain stream, all of twelve feet wide and twice as deep, crossed the roadway. There had been a rude bridge of tree trunks, but this was torn away, and thus our further retreat seemed hopelessly cut off.
A DARING LEAP.
For the moment neither Alano nor myself spoke as we gazed at the gap before us. Then I gave a groan which seemed to come from my very soul.
“We are lost, Alano! They have hemmed us in!”
My Cuban chum did not answer. Instead, he gazed to the right and the left.
But this was useless. On our right was a stony undergrowth impossible to traverse, on the left a thick jungle leading down into what looked like a bottomless morass.
The hoof-strokes of the pursuing horses sounded nearer, and I expected every moment to see the band of Spanish cavalrymen dash into sight with drawn arms, ready to shoot or cut us down. Alano must have been thinking the same, for I saw him grate his teeth hard.
“Mark!” he cried suddenly. “Come, it’s our only hope.”
“What?”
“To cross the stream.”
“But how? We can’t jump it.”
“We’ll make the horses do it. Be quick, or it will be too late. Watch me. I am certain these horses know how to do the trick.”
He rode back a distance of two hundred feet. Then on he came, like the wind, his animal well in hand. A cry of command, and the horse rose in the air and went over the chasm like a bird.
Could I do as well? There was no time left to speculate on the subject. Our pursuers were but just around the turn. I rode back as Alano had done and started to make the leap.
“Halte!” It was the cry of Captain Crabo, who was in the lead of the oncoming cavalrymen. I paid no attention. The edge of the mountain stream was reached, and I cried to my horse to move forward.
But he was stubborn, and made a balk for which I was hardly prepared. Down went his front feet against a bit of sharp rock, and the shock threw me over his head and directly into the middle of the mountain torrent!
I heard Alano give a cry of alarm, and then the waters closed over my head. Down and down I went, for at this point the water was at least fifteen feet deep. The sunlight was shut out as I passed under several overhanging rocks, only to bump up against the roots of a tree, where the water rushed rapidly in several directions.
Dazed to such an extent that I hardly knew what I was doing, I caught at the roots, held fast, and drew my head above the surface of the stream. I was out of sight of those who were after me, and prudently concluded to remain where I was.
My hiding-place was far from agreeable. The tree roots were slimy, and I imagined they must be the home of water snakes. Just over my head was a mass of soil over which crawled innumerable black beetles, some as big as a man’s thumb. Within reach of my hand, a large green-and-white frog blinked at me in amazement.
The shouts of the Spaniards reached me in a muffled way, as I heard them dismount and tramp up and down the torrent in search of me. I expected every moment to be discovered, but that moment did not come, and quarter of an hour passed.
By this time I could scarcely hold on longer to the tree roots. I listened as well as I could, and, hearing no sound, let go my hold. The rush of water speedily carried me fifteen feet further down the stream, and here I caught hold of some bushes and pulled myself up on the bank and out of sight.
I was now on the same side to which Alano had crossed, and I soon discovered that severalof the Spaniards had also come over, although on foot. They were in the neighborhood of the highway, and I could make out enough of their talk to know they were deploring their luck in not being able to find me and stop my Cuban chum.
Feeling that it would be foolhardy to leave my place of concealment for some time to come, I endeavored to make myself as comfortable as possible under the shelter of a clump of wild orange trees. These were full of the tempting-looking fruit, which, however, I found on sampling was so bitter it fairly puckered my mouth. But in my bag were some biscuits, and, as these were thoroughly water-soaked, I ate several with a relish.
Twice did the Spaniards pass within fifty feet of my hiding-place, and each time I felt like giving myself up for lost. They remained in the vicinity until nearly sundown, and then withdrew in the direction from whence they had come, growling volubly among themselves over their ill-luck.
With cautious steps I left the clump of wild oranges, and hurried to the highway. As Alano was on horseback, I felt he must have kept to the road. How far he had gone there was no telling, although it must be several miles if not much further.
While at the military academy we boys had, like many other school fellows, adopted a peculiar class whistle. This I felt certain Alano would remember well, and, at the risk of being spotted, I emitted the whistle with all the strength of my lungs, not once, but half a dozen times.
I listened intently, but no answer came back; and, satisfied that my chum was not within hearing, I went on my way, up the road, keeping an eye open for any enemy who might be in ambush.
It was now growing dark, and I felt that in another half-hour night would be upon me. To be alone in that wilderness was not pleasant, but just then there appeared to be no help for it.
At the distance of half a mile I stopped again to whistle. While I was listening intently I fancied I heard a rustle among the trees to my right. I instantly dove out of sight behind some brush, but the noise did not continue, and I concluded it must have been made by some bird.
Presently the road took another turn and made a descent into a canyon from which the light of day had long since fled. I hesitated and looked forward. Certainly the prospect was not an inviting one. But to turn back I feltwould be foolish, so I went on, although more cautiously than ever.
At the bottom of the hollow was a bit of muddy ground, over which a mass of cut brush had been thrown, probably to make the passage safer for man and beast. I had just stepped on this brush when something whizzed through the air and encircled my neck. Before I could save myself, I was jerked backward and felt a rawhide lasso cutting into my windpipe. I caught hold of the rawhide and tried to rise, but several forms arose out of the surrounding gloom and fell upon me, bearing me to the earth.
FRIENDS IN NEED.
I speedily found that my enemies were five in number; and, as they were all tall and powerful men, to struggle against them would have been foolhardy.
“Don’t choke me—I give in,” I gasped, and then the pressure on my neck was relieved.
“Americano,” I heard one of the fellows mutter. “No talk, you!” he hissed into my ear, and flourished a knife before my eyes to emphasize his words.
I shut my mouth, to signify that I agreed, and then I was allowed to rise, and in a twinkle my hands were tied behind my back. Two of the men conducted me away from the spot, while a third followed us. The other two men remained on guard at the highway.
I wondered if Alano had been captured, but just then did not give the subject much thought. There was no telling whether the men were Spanish or Cuban sympathizers; but, no matter to what side they belonged, I noted with a shudderthat they were a decidedly tough class of citizens.
Leaving the highway, we made our way along a rocky course leading to a small clearing at the top of a plateau. Back of the clearing was a rude hut, set in a grove of sapodilla trees. Around the hut half a dozen dirty soldiers were lying, who leaped up at our approach. An earnest conversation in a Spanishpatoisfollowed, and then one of the men spoke to me in Spanish.
“No speak Spanish, eh?” he growled, in return to my assertion to that effect. “Who you be? Where you go to?”
“I am on my way to Guantanamo, to join my father,” I said, and made as much of an explanation as I deemed necessary.
The soldiers glared suspiciously at me when my words were translated to them. Then, without ceremony, they began to search me, taking all I had of value from me.
“You are not going to rob me, I trust,” I said, and the man who could speak English laughed coarsely.
“We take all we get,” he replied. “All right in war,amigo.”
I was not hisamigo, or friend, but I was forced to submit; and, even as it was, I was thankful my life had been spared, for they were a cruel-lookingband, with less of the soldier than the bandit about them.
When I saw a chance, I started in to question them concerning Alano, but the nearest fellow, with a flat blow from his dirty hand, stopped me.
“No talk!” growled he who could speak English.
After this I said no more, but from where I had been placed, at the rear of the hot and ill-ventilated hut, I watched the men narrowly and tried to understand what they were talking about. I heard General Garcia mentioned and also the word “machete,” the name of the long, deadly knives most of the Cuban soldiers carried.
At last the men around the hut began to grow sleepy, and one after another sought a suitable spot and threw himself down to rest. The youngest of the party, a fellow not over twenty, was left on guard.
With his pistol in his lap, this guard sat on a flat rock, rolling cigarette after cigarette and smoking them. From my position in the hut I could just catch his outline, and I watched him eagerly. I pretended to go to sleep, but I was very wide awake.
It must have been well past midnight, and I was giving up in despair, when the last of the cigarettes went out and the guard’s head fellforward on his breast. In the meantime I had been silently working at the rawhide which bound my hands. In my efforts my wrists were cut not a little, but at last my hands were free.
Feeling that the guard and the others were all asleep, I arose as silently as a shadow. Several of my captors lay between me and the entrance of the hut, and it was with extreme caution that I stepped over them. The last man sighed heavily and turned over just as I went by, and with my heart in my throat I leaped out into the open.
But he did not awaken, nor did the guard notice my appearance. As I passed the latter I saw something shining on the ground. It was the pistol, which had slipped from the guard’s lap. I hesitated only an instant, then picked it up and glided onward to the end of the plateau.
“Halte!” The command, coming so suddenly, was enough to startle anybody, and I leaped back several feet. A man had appeared before me, one of the fellows left to guard the highway below. Following the command came an alarm in Spanish.
On the instant the camp was in commotion. The guard was the first to awaken, and his anger when he found his pistol gone was very great. While he was searching for his weapon,the others poured from the hut and ran toward me, leveling their weapons as they came.
I was caught between two fires, for the man before me also had his pistol raised, and I did not know what to do. Then, to avoid being struck, and not wishing to shed blood, I leaped toward some near-by bushes.
Bang! crack! A musket and a pistol went off almost simultaneously, and I heard a clipping sound through the trees. Just as my former captors turned to follow me into the thicket, there came another shot from down in the hollow of the highway.
“Cuba libre!” I heard echo upon several sides, and a rattle of musketry followed. From a dozen spots in the hollow I saw the long flashes of fire, and I at once knew that a portion of the Cuban army was at hand and had surprised the Spanish sympathizers who were attempting to hold the highway.
The moment the battle started below the plateau those who had held me captive gave up pursuing me, and rushed back to the hut to obtain their entire belongings—feeling, doubtless, that the region would soon get too hot to hold them. I watched them turn away with keen satisfaction, and remained where I was, the guard’s pistol still in my possession.
For fully half an hour the firing kept up, andthen came a rush along the highway and again I heard the cry of “Cuba libre!” raised, showing that the rebels were getting the best of the encounter and had driven the Spanish soldiers from their hiding-places. On went one body of men after the other down the road, until the sounds of their voices and firearms were almost lost in the distance.
Certain that the plateau was now absolutely deserted, I ran back to the hut and found my valise, which had been thrown in a corner. My pistol was gone, but as I had another, fully loaded and just as good, I did not mind this. With my satchel over my shoulder, I crawled cautiously down to the highway and hurried in the direction I had before been pursuing.
I had just reached the opposite side of the hollow, where all was pitch dark, on account of the shade, when a feeble moan came to my ears. Moving silently in the direction, I found a negro lying on his back, a fearful wound in his shoulder.
The man could speak nothing but a Cubanpatois, yet I understood that he was in pain and desired his shoulder bound up. Wetting my handkerchief in the water at the hollow, I washed the wound as best I could and tied it up with strips of muslin torn from the sleeve of his ragged shirt and my own shirt sleeve. For this,I could note by his manner, that he was extremely grateful.
“Americano?” he said.
“Yes,” I replied.
Then he asked me several other questions, from which I made out that he wanted to know which side I was on. Feeling certain I was safe, I said “Cuba,” and he smiled faintly.
“I want to find General Garcia,” I continued, emphasizing the name. Then I tapped my breast, said General Garcia again, and pointed off with my finger.
He nodded and attempted to sit up. With his bony finger he pointed up the highway, and circled his finger to the northwest to signify I was to turn off in that direction. Then he caught me by the arm and whispered “Maysi” into my ear—the password.
Feeling I could do no more for him at present, I went on, and at the distance of an eighth of a mile came to a side road, which was the one he had described to me. It was narrow and rocky, and I had not proceeded over two hundred feet in the direction when a soldier leaped out from behind a banana tree and presented his gun.
“Halte!” he cried.
“Maysi!” I called promptly.
The gun was lowered, and, seeing I was but aboy, the guard smiled and murmured “Americano?” to which I nodded.
“General Garcia,” I said, and tapped my breast to signify I wished to see the great Cuban leader.
Without a word the guard led me on a distance of a hundred feet and called another soldier. A short talk ensued, and the second man motioned me to follow him through a trail in the brush. We went on for ten minutes, then came to a clearing hemmed in by a cliff and several high rocks.
Here were over a hundred soldiers on foot and twice as many on horseback. In the midst of the latter was the Cuban general I had asked to see—the gallant soldier who had fought so hard in the cause of Cuban liberty.