TO BE SHOT AT SUNRISE
Never in his life had our hero experienced a feeling of such utter
helplessness as he did upon recognizing del Concha. The treachery
unfolded by the man's words was beyond his comprehension, and he knew
not how to combat it. For a moment he stared speechless at the
traitor, then he turned to the General, who was gazing at him with
stern inquiry.
"Your Excellency," said Ridge, "the man who thus seeks to gain your
favor, and, as I suppose, a reward, by denouncing me, is doubly a
traitor. He kills Spaniards at every opportunity, and now seeks my
life at your hands because he knows that I am one. It is true that I
was captured by him and his band of Cuban ruffians. To save my life, I
told him the story that he now brings to you. After thus allaying his
suspicions, I seized a favorable opportunity to escape. By the
superior swiftness of my horse I finally reached this place in safety,
though pursued by him to your very lines and hotly fired upon, as can
be proved by many witnesses. Now, therefore, I, José Remelios, bearer
of despatches from the Señor Carranza, denounce this man as a doubly
dyed traitor, and demand that he be arrested on a charge of being a
Cuban spy."
"Have you ever seen him kill a Spaniard?" asked General Pando.
Ridge was obliged to admit that he had not.
"Then how do you know that he has done so?"
"From his own boastful confession. He claims to have taken the life of
a Spanish soldier for every day of the last year."
The General smiled. "That is certainly a very boastful claim," he
said, "but one not to be believed for a moment. Think you, sir, that
such a number of Spaniards could be killed without my knowledge? or
that, in any case, one man could thus overcome the brave, experienced,
and well-armed soldiers of Spain? Your credulity, señor, is
refreshing. Also I have no hesitation in telling you that ever since I
took command of the eastern diocese, this man, recommended to me by my
predecessor in office, has been the most faithful and valuable of my
secret agents among the Cubans. Time and again he has furnished early
information of important events which has subsequently proved correct
in every detail. With such a record in his favor, am I now to doubt
him upon the mere word of a stranger? No, señor, the honor of a
Spaniard forbids. I am obliged, therefore--"
Just here came an interruption of voices at the door. Hearing them,
del Concha, who had remained silent during the foregoing conversation
and apparently careless of what was said concerning him, uttered a few
hurried words to the General in a low tone, and disappeared behind a
screen that stood close at hand. Directly afterwards a lieutenant and
two soldiers entered with a prisoner, whom Ridge recognized as one of
the ragged Cubans who had escorted him to Holguin.
"General," said the officer, saluting, "I bring a Cuban deserter who
claims to have information of pressing importance that he will impart
to no one but yourself, so I have ventured to intrude; but if it is
your pleasure, I will remove him and seek to extort his secret."
"Oh no," replied the commander; "it is not worth the trouble. Let him
speak, and quickly, for I am pressed with business."
"I come, Excellenza," began the deserter, in a trembling voice, "with
the hope of clemency and a reward, to notify your Excellency that this
señor"--here he pointed to Ridge--"is not what he pretends. I was of a
band who captured him on the coast, and I overheard his confession to
our leader. From his own mouth, therefore, I learned that he is a spy,
and--"
"An American bearing false despatches," interrupted the General,
irritably. "You see I already know all that you would say. Remove
your prisoner, soldados." Then, in a lower tone to the officer, he
added: "Take him away and dispose of him. Such _canaille_ are as
troublesome as fleas. Immediately upon completing the job you may
return, as I have other business for you."
With a salute, the officer hurried after his men. At the same time del
Concha emerged from his place of concealment, and the General, turning
to Ridge, said:
"You have doubtless noted, señor, how quickly the information
concerning yourself brought by this gentleman is confirmed. Therefore
you will not be surprised to have me order you into confinement until
your case can be reported to Havana"--at this moment came the startling
sound of a volley of musketry, evidently fired close at hand--"and a
decision concerning it received from the Captain-General," concluded
the speaker, paying no heed to the firing.
As Ridge was about to utter a protest, the officer who had left the
room a minute before, re-entered it, saluted with stiff precision, and
stood awaiting orders.
"Lieutenant Navarro," said the General, "you will remove this
gentleman, who is charged with being an American spy, and bid the
officer in charge of the guard-house hold him in closest custody until
he receives further instructions. Adios, Señor Remelios. May your
night's rest be peaceful."
Perceiving that resistance or protest would be useless, Ridge passively
allowed himself to be led away. A file of soldiers stood outside, and,
surrounded by these, he was marched to the guardhouse, where, after
being searched and relieved of everything contained by his pockets, he
was led into a bare, cell-like room.
A wooden stool and a heap of filthy straw in one corner constituted its
sole furnishing. Through a grating in the door came the flickering
light of a lamp burning in the corridor, while outer air was admitted
by a small iron-barred opening in one of the side walls some six feet
above the floor. The place reeked with dampness, and, in spite of
these openings, its air was foul and stifling. A few minutes after
Ridge entered it, and as he sat in dumb despair, vainly striving to
realize his unhappy situation, a soldier brought him a bowl of bean
porridge and a jug of water. Without a word, he set these down and
departed.
A little later other soldiers came and gazed curiously at him through
the grated door, always speaking of him as "el Yanko," and making merry
at his expense. Thus several hours passed, and he still sat
motionless, trying to think; but his brain was in a whirl, and he
seemed as powerless to concentrate his thoughts as he was friendless.
He realized dimly that at regular intervals a guard, pacing the outer
corridor, paused before the door of his cell to peer in at him, and so
make sure of his presence; but he paid slight attention to this
official scrutiny.
Suddenly his ear caught a sound strange to that place--a girlish voice
laughing merrily and evidently exchanging brisk repartee with the
soldiers in the guard-room. It was a pleasanter sound than any he had
heard, and he listened to it eagerly. After a little the voice seemed
to draw nearer, and he could distinguish the words, "el Yanko." He,
then, was the subject of that gay conversation. A moment later, from
the same source, came an expression that numbed him with the awfulness
of its possible meaning. "To be shot at sunrise? Poor fellow!" Could
he be the "poor fellow" meant? Of course not; but then he might be.
Such a summary disposition of prisoners was not unknown to Spanish
jailers.
While his mind was busy with this startling question the laughing
voice, now lowered almost to a whisper, approached his door, and he
became conscious of a scrutiny through the grating. Also a discussion
was going on outside, and he heard:
"No, no, not a smile, not a word, unless you open the door so that I
may see el Yanko. I have never seen one in all my life--never."
A short pause, then a key turned, and the door was gently opened. Two
figures entered. A soldier and a slender girl, who clung fearfully to
his arm. They stood and looked at Ridge as he sat on his wooden stool,
and he stared back. For a moment the three gazed at one another in
silence.
Then the girl exclaimed, pettishly:
"If that is all your famous Yanko amounts to, I have already seen
enough, since he looks exactly like other men, only more ugly than
some. Come, let us go."
With this she playfully turned her companion about and pushed him from
the cell. As she did so she made a quick backward movement with her
right hand, and something fell on the straw pallet as though flung
there. A second later the door was relocked, and, with merry laughter
again echoing through the dim corridor, they were gone.
Curiously Ridge fumbled in the musty bedding until he found a small
packet enveloped in brown paper. He opened it eagerly. Inside were
two tiny steel saws, made from a watch spring, and a little tube of
oil. There was also a bit of white paper on which was writing. By
holding this close to the lamp-lighted grating. Ridge read:
"You have only till daylight. Saw out a bar and squeeze through.
Friends will await you outside. Destroy this." There was no signature.
"What friends can I have in this place?" thought the young trooper, as
he nervously chewed the bit of paper to a pulp. At the same time he
was tremulous with a new hope. "Perhaps I can do it," he said, "and
anything will be better than sitting in idleness, with a prospect of
being shot at sunrise."
Standing on his wooden stool he could easily reach the lower end of the
iron bars closing the cell window, and he at once began work on them.
At first he seemed to produce about as much effect as would the gnawing
of a mouse, but after a while his tiny saw was buried in the tough
iron. Then footsteps approached, and Ridge had barely time to fling
himself on the vile-smelling pallet before a sentry was peering in at
the grating. A ray of light fell where he lay, but fortunately failed
to reach the side on which the barred aperture was located. So the
prisoner made a long bunch of the straw, covered it with his coat, and
placed his water-jug at one end, thus causing the whole to bear a rude
resemblance to a human figure.
After that he worked steadily, only pausing at the sound of footsteps,
but not leaving the scene of his operations. He found that he must cut
two bars instead of only one, and a saw snapped in twain when the first
was but half severed. After that he handled the other with intense
caution, and his heart throbbed painfully with anxiety as the work
neared completion.
For hours he toiled, and he knew that daylight could not be far off
when the second bar was finally cut. To bend it aside took all his
strength, and so occupied was he in doing this that for the first time
that night he heeded not a sound of footsteps in the corridor.
"What goes on here?" questioned a harsh voice, and Ridge's heart leaped
into his mouth. With desperate energy he wrenched the bars to one
side, hearing as he did so a fumbling at the lock of his door.
Utilizing his strength to the utmost, he pulled himself up, forced his
body through the narrow opening, and pitched headlong to the ground
outside. At the same time came fierce shouts, a pistol-shot, and a
great clamor from the place he had left,
But strong hands were helping him to his feet, and a voice was saying
in his ears: "You have done well, amigo. Now we must fly for our
lives."
Of course it could not be; but to Ridge's senses, confused by the shock
of his fall, it seemed as though the voice was that of the false friend
who had betrayed him.