Had a bombshell exploded near the Cuban, he could not have been more
excited.
“You a recruit?” he gasped.
“Why not?” laughed Hal. “Am I not healthy enough, or do you fear that I
would run at the first fire?”
“Senor, you would be a valuable recruit, but you are not a Cuban.”
“Is that a disqualification?”
“But this rebellion is not your affair, senor. You belong to a free
people, and have no need to fight for Cuba.”
“There are already many Americans who take a different view. With
Maximo Gomez and Calixta Garcia there are scores, if not hundreds,
of American citizens. I have not heard that they make poor soldiers.
Ramirez, I owe my life to you. You are a Cuban. Therefore, I owe
my life to Cuba. I have no family ties; no obligation except to my
employer. Captain Blodgett has undertaken to deliver the money to him.
There is nothing to hold me back. You have remained in Havana because
you did not have the twenty-five dollars with which to buy a gun. I
have enough to buy two. Will you take me to the insurgents, or will you
go alone?”
Ramirez still hesitated for a moment; next he darted forward seizing
Hal’s hand.
“Senor, if you are in earnest, I will show you the way.”
“It is settled, then,” was all Hal Maynard said.
“Oh, this is glorious!” cried Ramirez, his eyes becoming misty. “At
last I am to be able to join the Cuban army. More than that, I shall
take a comrade with me.”
“Here is all the money I have in the world,” added Hal, turning his
funds over to Juan. “Henceforth, it belongs to Cuba.”
“Let us lose not a moment’s time,” urged Ramirez, his eyes dancing with
delight. “Senor, I am afraid to move, for fear I shall wake up and find
it all a dream. I cannot delay for a second.”
“Nevertheless,” broke in Captain Blodgett, “I hope you will dally here
for a little while. Young men, you are starting into an island where
starvation reigns. Let me offer you a square meal--the last, perhaps,
that you will get for weeks to come.”
“I do not need food,” declared Juan, trying to puff out his thin
cheeks. “Happiness will sustain me.”
“I’m hungry, and not ashamed to say so,” interposed Hal, with a laugh.
“If Captain Blodgett will do something to relieve that, I beg you, my
dear fellow, to wait here a few moments.”
Juan reluctantly consented. A bustling steward soon had the table
spread with hearty food.
Hal ate a hearty meal. Ramirez fed like one famished.
“Bah!” uttered the Cuban, rising in disgust at last. “I have made such
a wolf of myself that I am not fit to walk. But to you, captain, I
offer a thousand thanks for your hospitality, and a thousand apologies
for the spectacle I have made of myself.”
“I shall hold together until to-morrow,” murmured Hal, rising with a
satisfied air. “Captain, my most earnest thanks.”
Now the bustling steward came back with two parcels of food which he
helped the young men to stow away under their jackets.
Captain Blodgett, hearty, if somewhat taciturn, followed them to the
deck, slipping into Hal’s hand a receipt for the money, which he
undertook to forward to its destination.
“The best of good luck, lads,” came in an earnest whisper from the
English captain, as he offered each a hand at the same time.
They stepped ashore, Ramirez acting as guide.
Of all that followed, during the next two hours, Hal had, at the end of
that time, only the vague recollection that follows a dream.
But they reached the southern outskirts of Havana without mishap; they
trudged along a dusty country road, dodging behind trees or into the
brush whenever Ramirez’s acute hearing warned them of the presence or
approach of military.
“Do you see those lights ahead?” queried Juan, at last.
“Yes.”
“Those lights come from the Inn of the Red Cavalier. It is the inn
where Spanish officers dine when they return from the interior well
provided with plunder taken from those who had yet something left to
lose. Judging by the sounds, there are officers dining there now.”
“A good place to keep away from, eh?” queried Hal.
“By no means, senor. Keep close to me, and I hope to show you that
such places as the inn are useful to the insurgents.”
Ramirez left the road, plunging into the depths of a grove.
The nearer he came to the inn the more slowly he moved.
Frequent bursts of laughter were now audible from the inn.
“They are happy, the Spanish fiends,” muttered Juan, grating his teeth.
“Yet, senor, they are feeding on the very blood of Cuba!”
Rattle of dishes and clink of glasses came to the ears of the
listeners. Outside the inn were tethered some two score of horses,
while soldiers lolled about over the ground, some eating bread, while
others puffed at cigarettes.
“Twenty of our own brave Cuban fellows could stop that gayety forever,”
growled Ramirez, savagely.
“But there are at least forty of the enemy,” observed Hal.
“It is no matter. Twenty of our men would do. But hush! There is the
gleam of a soldier’s musket--a sentinel. Senor, do not make a sound
that will betray us.”
Forward, a foot at a time, moved the pair, while not even a blade of
grass rustled under their feet.
So quietly did they move, in fact, that, aided by the darkness and
shadow of the grove, they gained a spot within less than thirty feet of
the pacing sentinel.
Halting, Ramirez looked long and anxiously at this uniformed son of
Spain.
When the Cuban placed his mouth close against our hero’s ear, it was to
whisper:
“Senor, that soldier is one whom I know, for I have long had my eyes
upon him. If all goes well, we shall soon have two guns. If I am
deceived, our lives are not worth a peseta. If you hesitate, go back,
and I will take the chance alone.”
“Go back?” whispered Hal. “Not when you go forward!”
Ramirez’s black eyes danced as he nodded.
Then, craning his neck forward, he whispered, sharply:
“Pedro! Pedro Escarillaz!”
In an instant, the sentinel halted, turning his head.
“If money will do you any good, Pedro Escarillaz, come here.”
Quick as a flash, the soldier’s rifle flew to his shoulder.
Then, reconsidering, he walked slowly toward the grove.
“Who called?” he asked.
“Men who have money,” answered Juan. “If you happen to be hungry, you
will be glad that we have called you.”
Hal felt thunderstruck.
“Is this Cuban crazy?” he wondered, hardly knowing whether to run or
stand his ground.
But the next second brought better counsel.
Up to the present, Juan had proven himself very far removed from a
lunatic.
Nevertheless, Maynard felt cold shivers running up and down his spine
as he realized that slight warning from this sentinel would bring the
whole Spanish force down upon them.
“Who are you?” whispered the sentinel, stopping squarely in front of
them.
He held the muzzle aimed at them, ready to fire at the slightest sign
of need.
Yet that muzzle wavered slightly, as if the Spaniard’s fingers, tightly
gripping stock and lock, were twitching.
“The Spaniard is more afraid than I am,” muttered Hal, inwardly. “I
guess it’s the wrong time for me to get rattled.”
Though the talismanic word “money” had brought the soldier a little
off his beat, it was plain that he feared some surprise, for he not
only gazed keenly at his two accosters, but tried to peer over their
shoulders into the darkness beyond.
“You called me?” he demanded, in a voice that could not have been heard
twenty feet off.
“Yes,” answered Juan, coolly. “We need your services. We can pay for
them. Could you use money if you had it?”
“Carramba!” muttered the fellow, his eyes gleaming. “Could I not?”
“Very well, Pedro Escarillaz; we do not want much--only two rifles and
a hundred cartridges.”
“Carr-r-r-r-rajo!” swore Pedro, under his breath. “It is death to talk
that way.”
“Then you cannot serve us?” demanded Juan, in a voice that sounded all
but indifferent.
“How much do you offer?” asked the soldier, suddenly.
“Fifty dollars.”
“Fifty dollars for a gun and cartridges?” repeated Private Escarillaz.
“It is too little.”
“That would be altogether too much,” retorted Ramirez, imperturbably.
“The price that I have offered must be for two Mauser rifles and a
hundred cartridges.”
“Say seventy-five dollars,” proposed the soldier, “and I may be able to
help you. But for less it cannot be done.”
“Then, Pedro Escarillaz, I wish you good-night,” answered Juan,
performing a half wheel.
“Not so quick,” uttered the soldier, warningly. “Suppose I were to call
the guard? You would lose your money and your lives.”
“True,” admitted Juan, composedly; “but then your officers would get
the money, and you would get nothing. If you make a trade with us--why,
just think what you could do with so much money.”
“If I only knew how to accomplish it,” murmured Pedro, his dark eyes
snapping at thought of the good times he could have in Havana with so
much wealth.
“Oh, very well,” said Juan, calmly, “if you cannot do it, we have made
a serious mistake, and you have been a great loser.”
“Wait,” whispered Pedro. “In five minutes the guard will be changed.”
“And then----”
“I will do my best.”
Hal and Juan ensconced themselves behind some bushes. In ten minutes
Pedro Escarillaz returned, trembling and pallid.
Almost in silence, the trade was made, the traitor not daring to look
into the eyes of the purchasers.
Silently as shadows, the two latest recruits for Cuba stole off in the
night.
But Juan Ramirez seemed to have grown a half a foot as he turned to his
American comrade, murmuring hoarsely:
“Now, mi amigo, for the long grass! Henceforth our only cry shall be
‘Viva Cuba Libre!’”
* * * * *
Third Part.