rejoicing. Asensio, recovered now from his burst of savagery, was
tearful, compassionate; his comrades laughed and chattered and bragged
about their prodigious deeds of valor. Over and over they recounted
their versions of the encounter, each more fanciful than the other,
until it seemed that they must have left the forest filled with corpses.
Esteban alone was grave. He had heard of Colonel Cobo, and, remembering
that denim-clad figure out yonder in the trampled garden, he knew that
serious consequences would follow. The Volunteers were revengeful;
their colonel was not the sort of man to forgive a deep humiliation.
Doubtless he would put a price upon the heads of all of them, and
certainly he would never allow them another encounter upon anything
like even terms. Then, too, the narrowness of Rosa's escape caused the
boy's heart to dissolve with terror.
After a conference with Asensio he decided that they must prepare for
flight, and late that afternoon they all set out to seek a safer
refuge, Evangelina in tears at leaving her precious garden plot. Their
led horse, one of those Lorenzo had captured, carried a pitifully light
burden--only some tools, some pans and kettles, and a roll of charred
bedclothes. Johnnie O'Reilly had no difficulty in locating the
Residence of Ignacio Alvarado, but to communicate with him was quite
another matter, inasmuch as his every step was dogged by that
persistent shadow from Neuvitas. Leslie Branch had told him enough
about conditions here in Puerto Principe to make him extremely
cautious, and after their first talk he had once more concealed his
revolver in a safe hiding-place, taking good care thereafter that
nothing in his conduct should awaken suspicion.
Unfortunately his room was on the second floor of the hotel, and hence
his goings and comings were always open to observation. But he noted
that a window at one end of the upper hall overlooked a sloping,
tile-roofed shed, and that the garden wall behind the hotel premises
was not provided with those barbarous spikes or broken bottles which
decorate so many Cuban walls. It promised him a means of egress when
the time should come to use it. In this hall, moreover, directly
opposite his door there was an oil bracket-lamp which gave light to the
passageway, and which was forever going out, a fact which the young man
noted with satisfaction.
One evening, several days after his arrival, a sudden rain-storm drove
O'Reilly indoors, and as he ascended to his room he saw that the lamp
in the hallway flared and smoked at every gust of wind. It was very
dark outside; he reasoned that the streets would be deserted. Hastily
securing that book which Alvarado, the dentist, had given him, he took
a position close inside his door. When he heard the spy pass and enter
the next chamber he stole out into the hall and breathed into the
lamp-chimney. A moment later he was safely through the window and was
working his way down the shed roof, praying that his movements had not
been seen and that the tiles were firm. The rain was driving in sheets
and he was wet to the skin when he dropped into the patio; nevertheless
he was laughing to himself. He nimbly scaled the wall, crossed an
inclosure, climbed a second wall, and descended into a dark side
street. Taking advantage of the densest shadows and the numerous
overhanging balconies, he set out at a brisk trot.
A light showed through the barred windows of the Alvarado home,
indicating that the family was in. After some fumbling O'Reilly laid
hold of the latch; then, without knocking, he opened the front door and
stepped in.
He found himself, as he had expected, in the parlor, a high-ceilinged,
sparsely furnished room with a glazed floor of Spanish mosaics. His
sudden appearance threw the occupants into alarm: a woman cried out
sharply; a man whom O'Reilly identified as Ignacio Alvarado himself
leaped to his feet and faced him, exclaiming:
"Who are you?"
"I'm a friend. Don't be alarmed." Johnnie summoned his most agreeable
smile, then he extended the sodden package he had carried beneath his
arm. "I come from your brother Tomas. He asked me to hand you this book
and to say that he is returning it with his thanks."
"What are you saying?" Plainly the speaker did not comprehend; there
was nothing but apprehension in his voice.
O'Reilly tore the wet paper from the volume and laid it in Alvarado's
hand. "Look at it, please, and you'll understand. I didn't take time to
knock, for fear I might be followed."
Alvarado stared first at the book, then at his caller. After a moment
he made a sign to his wife, who left the room. Wetting his lips, he
inquired, with an effort, "What do you want?"
O'Reilly told him in a few words. Alvarado showed relief; he even
smiled. "I see, but--Caramba! You gave me a start. And this book! Ha!
Tomas will have his jokes. It is well you took precautions, for I am
under surveillance. I'll help you, yes! But you must not come here
again. Return to your hotel and--Let me think." Senor Alvarado frowned
in deepest thought; then he said: "I have it! Every morning at half
past nine a man wearing a Panama hat and a gray silk necktie with a
large gold pin will pass along the sidewalk across the street from the
Isla de Cuba. You will know him. One day, I cannot promise how soon, he
will lift his hat thus, and wipe his face. You understand? Good. Follow
him. He will give you final directions. Meanwhile I will make known
your presence to certain of our friends who can be trusted. You know
Manin, the druggist? Well, you can talk to him, and he will keep you
posted as to our progress. Now go before some one comes."
O'Reilly wrung the Cuban's hand. Then he stepped out into the night,
leaving a pool of water on the clean blue tiles where he had stood.
X
O'REILLY TALKS HOG LATIN
In the days that followed his call on Ignacio Alvarado, O'Reilly
behaved so openly that the Secret Service agent detailed to watch him
relaxed his vigilance. Certainly there was nothing suspicious in the
conduct of a fellow who sat all the morning tipped back in a hotel
chair, languidly scanning the passers-by, whose afternoons were spent
on the streets or at the soda-fountain in Martin's drug-store, and
whose evenings were devoted to aimless gossip with his countryman, the
newspaper writer. Manifestly this O'Reilly was a harmless person. But
the spy did not guess how frantic Johnnie was becoming at this delay,
how he inwardly chafed and fretted when two weeks had rolled by and
still no signal had come. Manin told him to be patient; he assured him
that word had been sent into the Cubitas hills, and that friends were
busy in his behalf; but Johnnie was eager to be up and doing. This
inaction paralyzed him; it made him almost ill to think how much time
had slipped away. Then, too, his money was running low.
At last, however, the day arrived when the man with the gray necktie
raised his hat and wiped his brow as he passed the Isla de Cuba.
Johnnie could scarcely hold himself in his chair. By and by he rose,
stretching himself, and sauntered after the fellow. For several blocks
he kept him in sight, but without receiving any further sign. The man
paused to greet friends, he stopped at several shops, and his aimless
wanderings continued for the best part of an hour, during which he led
the way to the outskirts of the city. Fortunately O'Reilly's shadow was
nowhere in sight.
Without a glance over his shoulder the man turned into a large, walled
inclosure. When Johnnie followed he found himself in one of the old
cemeteries. Ahead of him, up a shady avenue bordered with trees, the
stranger hurried; then he swerved to his left, and when O'Reilly came
to the point where he had disappeared there was nobody in sight.
Apprehending that he had made some mistake in the signal, O'Reilly
hastened down the walk. Then at last, to his great relief, he heard a
sibilant:
"Psst! Psst!"
It came from behind a screen of shrubbery, and there he found the Cuban
waiting. The latter began rapidly:
"Our plans are complete. Listen closely. One week from to-day, at ten
o'clock in the morning, you must be in Manin's drug-store. Directly
across the street you will see two negroes with three horses. At
fifteen minutes past ten walk out San Rafael Street to the edge of the
city, where the hospital stands. The negroes will follow you. There is
a fort near by--"
"I know."
"It commands the road. You will be challenged if you pass it, so turn
in at the hospital. But do not enter the gates, for the negroes will
overtake you at that point. They will stop to adjust the saron of the
lead horse. That will be your signal; mount him and ride fast. The
Spaniards will fire at you, but if you are hit one of the blacks will
take you on his horse. If one of them is hit or his horse falls you
must stop and take him up. Ride out half a mile and you will find a
band of Insurrectos in the woods at the right. They know you are
coming. Now, adois and good luck."
With a smile and a quick grip of the hand the messenger walked swiftly
away. O'Reilly returned to his hotel.
At last! One week, and this numbing, heartbreaking delay would end; he
would be free to take up his quest. O'Reilly choked at the thought; the
blood drummed in his ears. Rosa would think he was never coming; she
would surely believe that his heart had changed. As if it could! "O
God! Come quickly, if you love me." Well, a week was only seven days.
He longed to risk those Spanish bullets this very hour.
But those seven days were more than a week, they were seven eternities.
The hours were like lead; O'Reilly could compose his mind to nothing;
he was in a fever of impatience.
Meanwhile, he was compelled to see a good deal of Leslie Branch. The
reporter was anything but cheerful company, for, believing firmly in
the steady progress of his malady, he was weighed down by the deepest
melancholy. The fellow was a veritable cave of despair; he voiced
never-ceasing complaints; nothing suited him; and but for something
likable in the man--an effect due in part to the fact that his chronic
irritation took amusing forms--he would have been an intolerable bore.
To cheer him up was quite impossible, and although it seemed to Johnnie
that the Cuban climate agreed with him and that he lacked only strength
of will to cheat the grave, the mere suggestion of such a thought was
offensive to the invalid. He construed every optimistic word, every
effort at encouragement, either as a reflection upon his sincerity or
as the indication of a heartless indifference to his sufferings. He
continued to talk wistfully about joining the Insurrectos, and O'Reilly
would have been glad to put him in the way of realizing his fantastic
ambition to "taste the salt of life" had it been in his power; but,
since he himself depended upon friends unknown to him, he did not dare
to risk complicating matters. In fact, he did not even tell Branch of
his coming adventure.
The day of days dawned at last, and Johnnie was early at Manin's
soda-fountain, drinking insipid beverages and anxiously watching the
street. In due time the negroes appeared, their straw sarons laden with
produce which they innocently disposed of. O'Reilly began to consult
his watch with such frequency that the druggist joked him.
Manin's banter was interrupted by a bugle-call. Down the street came
perhaps two hundred mounted troops. They wheeled into San Rafael Street
at a gallop and disappeared in the direction of the suburbs.
"Now what does that mean?" murmured the druggist. "Wait here while I go
to the roof where I can see something."
O'Reilly tried to compose himself, meanwhile becoming aware of a
growing excitement in the street. Pedestrians had halted, shopkeepers
had come to their doors, questions were flying from mouth to mouth.
Then from the direction of the fort at the end of San Rafael Street
sounded a faint rattling fusillade, more bugle-calls, and finally the
thin, distant shouting of men.
"Rebels!" some one cried.
"Dios mio, they are attacking the city!"
"They have audacity, eh?"
The roofs were black with people now. Manin came hurrying down into the
store.
"Something has gone wrong," he whispered. "They're fighting out yonder
in the woods. There has been some treachery."
"It is ten-fifteen," said O'Reilly. "I must be going."
Manin stared at him. "You don't understand--"
"Those black fellows are getting their horses ready. I'm going."
The druggist tried to force Johnnie into a chair. "Madman!" he panted.
"I tell you our friends have been betrayed; they are retreating. Go
back to your hotel quickly."
For the first time during their acquaintance Manin heard the
good-natured American curse; O'Reilly's blue eyes were blazing; he had
let go of himself completely.
"I'm going!" he cried, hoarsely. "All the damned Spaniards in Cuba
won't stop me. God! I've waited too long--I should have made a break--"
"Idiot!" stormed the druggist. "You wish to die, eh?"
O'Reilly ripped out another oath and fought off the other's restraining
hands.
"Very well, then," cried Manin, "but have some thought of us who have
risked our lives for you. Suppose you should escape? How would our
troops receive you now? Would they not think you had cunningly arranged
this trap?"
A light of reason slowly reappeared in the younger man's eyes.
"No!" Manin pressed his advantage. "You must wait until--" He broke off
abruptly and stepped behind his counter, for a man in the uniform of a
Spanish lieutenant had entered the store.
The new-comer walked directly to O'Reilly; he was a clean-cut, alert
young fellow. After a searching glance around the place he spoke in a
voice audible to both men:
"Senor, you are in danger. To-night, at midnight, you will be arrested.
I beg of you to see that there is nothing incriminating in your
possession."
O'Reilly's face betrayed his amazement. "Arrested? What for? On what
charge--"
The stranger shrugged. "I don't know. That newspaper man will be
arrested at the same moment, so you had better warn him. But be careful
where and how you do so, for all his movements are watched, all his
words are overheard."
"Why do you tell me this--you? Is it some scheme to--to incriminate
me?" O'Reilly inquired.
Manin was leaning over the counter, his face drawn with anxiety, his
lips framing the same question.
"No!" The lieutenant shook his head. "I am a friend--a Cuban, in spite
of this uniform. If you repeat my words I shall be shot within the
hour. I implore you"--his voice became more urgent--"to heed my
warning. I don't know what you had to do with this skirmish out San
Rafael Street, but a short time ago a message came from the fortina
that Insurrectos were in the woods close by. I hope it will not prove
to be a bloody encounter. And now remember--midnight!" He bowed, turned
to the door, and was gone.
Manin heaved a sigh of relief. "Caramba! He gave me a fright: I thought
my time had come. But what did I tell you, eh?"
"That fellow is a Cuban spy!"
"No doubt. We have many friends. Well! You see what would have happened
if you had tried to go. Now then, you must prepare yourself for the
worst."
Perhaps a half-hour later O'Reilly saw the cavalry squadron returning
to its barracks. The men were laughing; they were shouting brief
boastful accounts of their encounter to the people on the sidewalks.
Two of them were sick and white; they lurched in their saddles, and
were supported by their comrades, but it was not upon them that the
eyes of the onlookers centered. Through the filth of the street behind
the cavalcade trailed a limp bundle of rags which had once been a man.
It was tied to a rope and it dragged heavily; its limbs were loose; its
face, blackened by mud, stared blindly skyward.
O'Reilly gazed at the object with horrified fascination; then with a
sudden sick feeling of dizziness he retired to his room, asking himself
if he were responsible for that poor fellow's death.
Meanwhile the citizens of Puerto Principe looked on with stony eyes.
There was no cheering among them, only a hush in their chatter, above
which sounded the rattle of accoutrements, the clump-clump of hoofs,
and the exultant voices of the Spanish troopers.
For some reason or other Leslie Branch was nowhere to be found; his
room was locked and no one had seen him; hence there was no possibility
of warning him, until that evening, when he appeared while O'Reilly was
making a pretense of eating dinner.
"Where the devil have you been?" the latter inquired, anxiously.
"Been getting out my weekly joke about the revolution. Had to write up
this morning's 'battle.' Couldn't work in my room, so I--"
"Sit down; and don't jump when I tell you what has happened. We're
going to be pinched at midnight."
"Why midnight?"
"I don't know, unless that's the fashionable hour for military calls."
"What's it all about?"
"I guess they don't like us. Have you got anything incriminating about
you?"
"N-no! Nothing, except my citizen's papers and--a letter of
introduction to General Maximo Gomez."
O'Reilly suddenly lost what appetite remained to him.
"Nothing EXCEPT a letter to General Gomez!" he cried. "Good Lord,
Branch! Were you ever shot at sunrise?"
The reporter coughed dismally. "N-no! It's too damp. I suppose you mean
to hint I'd better destroy that letter, eh?"
"Just as quickly as possible. Where is it?"
"In my room."
"Hm-m! Then I'm not sure you'll have a chance to destroy it." O'Reilly
was thinking rapidly. "From what I was told I suspect you are being
watched even there."
"Bullets! I thought as much."
"Would you mind using some other oath?" O'Reilly broke out, irritably.
"I've always considered 'bullets' weak and ineffective, but--it has a
significance."
"There's a new lodger in the room next to me. I've heard him moving
around. I'll bet he's got a peephole in the wall." Branch was visibly
excited.
"Quite likely. I have the same kind of a neighbor; that is he watching
us now."
Leslie cast a hostile eye at the man his friend indicated. "Looks like
a miserable spy, doesn't he? But, say, how am I going to make away with
that letter?"
"I'm trying to think," said Johnnie. After a time he rose from the
table and the two strolled out. Johnnie was still thinking.
When the two arrived at Branch's quarters O'Reilly scrutinized the room
as closely as he dared, and then sat for some time idly gossiping. Both
men were under a considerable strain, for they thought it more than
likely that hostile eyes were upon them. It gave them an uncomfortable
thrill; and while it seemed a simple thing to burn that letter of
introduction, they realized that if their suspicions were correct such
a procedure would only serve to deepen their difficulties. Nothing they
could later say would explain to the satisfaction of the authorities so
questionable an act. The mere destruction of a mysterious document,
particularly at this late hour, would look altogether too queer; it
might easily cause their complete undoing. Inasmuch as his enemies were
waiting only for an excuse to be rid of him, O'Reilly knew that
deportation was the least he could expect, and at the thought his
fingers itched to hold that letter over the lamp-chimney. Imprisonment,
almost any punishment, was better than deportation. That would mean
beginning all over again.
While he was talking he used his eyes, and finally a plan suggested
itself. To make doubly sure that his words would not be understood he
inquired, casually:
"Do you speak any foreign languages?"
"Sure! Spanish and--hog Latin."
In spite of himself O'Reilly grinned; then making use of that
incoherent derangement of syllables upon the use of which every
American boy prides himself, he directed Branch's attention to the
tiles of the roof overhead.
The reporter's wits were sharp; his eyes brightened; he nodded his
instant understanding. The house had but one story, its roof was
constructed of the common, half-round Cuban tiling, each piece about
two feet long. These tiles were laid in parallel rows from ridge-pole
to eave, and these rows were locked together by other tiling laid
bottom side up over them. Where the convex faces of the lower layer
overlapped, after the fashion of shingles, were numerous interstices
due to imperfections in manufacture; more than one of these was large
enough to form a hiding-place for a letter.
Continuing to disguise his language, O'Reilly directed his companion to
open the table drawer in which the unwelcome document reposed and to
see that it was where he could instantly lay hands upon it in the dark.
Branch did as he was told.
For some time longer they talked; then they rose as if to leave the
room. O'Reilly took his stand near the door and directly beneath the
most promising crevice in the roof, which at this point was perhaps
nine feet from the floor.
Branch stooped over the table and breathed into the lamp-chimney; the
room was plunged into darkness. There followed a faint rustling of
paper; the next instant he was at O'Reilly's side. Stooping, Johnnie
seized him about the knees and lifted him. There was the briefest
pause; then feeling a pinch upon his shoulder, O'Reilly lowered his
burden noiselessly, and the two men left the room.
When they were safely out in the street Branch rubbed his head and
complained: "Bullets, you're strong! You nearly broke a rafter with my
head. But I guess I got 'em out of sight."
"THEM?"
"Yes. I hid my American 'papers,' too. These Dons are sore on Yankees,
you know. I'm going to be an Englishman, and you'd better follow suit.
I'm the--the youngest son of the Earl of Pawtucket, and you'd better
tell 'em your uncle was the Duke of Ireland, or something."
XI
THE HAND OF THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL
On the stroke of midnight O'Reilly was arrested. After a thorough
search of his person and his premises he was escorted to Government
headquarters, where he found Leslie Branch.
The invalid looked taller, thinner, more bloodless than ever, and his
air of settled gloom admirably became the situation.
"Hello, Earl. What luck?" Johnnie flashed at him.
"Good!"
An officer sharply commanded them to be silent.
There ensued a long delay, introduced, perhaps, for its effect upon the
prisoners; then they were led into a large room where, it seemed, the
entire staff of the Spanish garrison was waiting. It was an imposing
collection of uniforms, a row of grim faces and hostile eyes, which the
two Americans beheld. Spread out upon a table in front of the officers
were the personal belongings of both men.
The prisoners were ordered to stand side by side, facing their
accusers. Then each in turn was subjected to a rigorous examination.
Owing to his acquaintance with Spanish, O'Reilly was able to defend
himself without the aid of an interpreter. He began by asserting that
he had come to Cuba for his health, and declared that he had endeavored
at all times since his arrival to conduct himself in strict conformity
with local regulations. If in any way he had offended, he had not done
so intentionally, He denied having the remotest connection with the
rebels, and demanded an explanation of his arrest.
But his plausible words did not in the least affect his hearers.
General Antuna, the comandante, a square-faced man with the airs of a
courtier, but with the bold, hard eyes of a fighter, leaned forward,
saying:
"So you suffer from ill health, senor?"
"I do, severely. Rheumatism."
The general nodded. "Three days ago you were overtaken by a rain-storm
while walking through the city."
"Yes, sir."
"When the rain had passed, you returned to your hotel. At the junction
of San Rafael and Estrella streets a pool of water had gathered and you
leaped it. Am I right?"
"No doubt."
General Antuna consulted a report before him. "That pool measured six
feet four inches in width. Do you ask me to believe that a person
suffering from rheumatism could do that?"
Leslie Branch shifted his weight and wet his lips, but O'Reilly only
shrugged impatiently. "My dear General," said he, "did you never
experience a neuralgia? Well then, was the pain continuous? In this
climate my affliction troubles me very little. That is why I remain
here."
From among the articles in front of him the general selected a solitary
44-caliber revolver cartridge and, holding it up, said:
"What do you say to this?"
"I don't know what to say. Where did it come from?"
"It was found in the cloth pocket of your valise."