THE BATTLE IN THE BRUSH.
Was it a foolhardy venture, he thought, as with steady stroke he forged
ahead away from the flagship, and toward the shore he had so recently
left amid the clatter of hostile bullets.
The enemy now must be on the alert, and he might be detected and
captured the instant his boat touched shore. And he was not blind to the
dangers that might confront him on land.
"I'm in for it now, at any rate," he thought, "and I've got to succeed.
This mystery must be solved, and I believe the result will show that it
is worth all the risk."
Darkness favored him, and besides he was alone; and for that very reason
could move around with less risk of discovery once he reached land. He
knew exactly where he had dropped the shell, and it would not take long
to get it.
It was therefore with confidence that he urged the boat forward.
It was a long pull, for the flagship lay well out to sea, but Clif did
not seem to feel the strain. He drew near the shore without detecting
any hostile movement or hearing any sound that would lead him to think
that the enemy were on the lookout.
He decided that it would be prudent not to land at the same spot as
previously. He therefore steered for a clump of trees a little further
down the coast, and still not a great distance from the hill where the
shell lay.
Not a sound from the enemy reached his ears as his boat grated upon the
sandy beach, and he sprang out to secure the painter to a bush.
Then, feeling that his revolver was ready and handy for business, he
cautiously began to steal his way through the shrubbery that fringed the
shore.
These screened his advance and soon he was ascending the steep bank in
the direction of the previous encounter. He was getting further away
from his boat and nearer and near to his destination.
"All serene, so far," he muttered, as he advanced steadily without any
adventure. "The Spaniards must have gone."
But suddenly, as he was about to step from the concealment of the trees
into a slight clearing that lay in his path, he heard a sound that
caused him to dodge quickly back. Looking out he saw a figure close at
hand and slowly approaching.
A step further and Clif would have brought himself directly within the
other's view.
It was not Clif's purpose to invite an encounter, although he grasped
his revolver in readiness for an emergency. He desired, rather, to avoid
it, and to quietly make his way to the spot where the shell lay. That
once secured, he felt that he could in the same way return to his boat
and to the flagship.
He therefore silently waited in his place of concealment to see what the
enemy would do. The latter evidently had not heard Clif's movements, and
continued slowly to advance, stooping occasionally and peering from side
to side.
"I think I know what you're after," muttered Clif below his breath. "But
you won't find it here; nor me, either," he added, as he began to edge
away from the position he held.
As he did so, the other turned and slowly continued his course in the
opposite direction.
The coast was again clear, and Clif lost no time in putting what
distance he could between himself and the unwelcome visitor. His course,
too, led him toward the mound of earth behind which lay the object of
his coming.
When he reached the spot where he had met the Cuban courier he found it
deserted. The Spaniards, after the escape of Clif and his men, had
evidently withdrawn.
With a light heart he sprang toward the rampart of earth and began to
ascend its side.
"In one minute it is mine," he thought exultingly, "and then back to the
flagship and the test!"
But a surprise was in store for him. As he vaulted over the top of the
mound on to the other side, he landed almost into the arms of a man who
was just ascending that side.
The man was unmistakably a Spaniard, and from his hands there fell a
round shell, that rolled away across the ground.
The encounter was startling to both, but Clif was the first to recover
his wits. His quick eye detected the fallen shell, and he divined the
fellow's purpose.
Before the other could recover from his evident fright, Clif sprang upon
him.
"So you have found it!" he muttered, as he closed in upon the Spaniard,
"but finding's not keeping's this time."
Clif's attack brought the Spaniard quickly to his senses, and he was not
slow to defend himself.
In a flash he drew his revolver, but Clif was too quick for him. The
latter knocked the weapon from the fellow's grasp before he had a chance
to fire it.
Clif's own weapon was within easy reach, but for several reasons he did
not care to use it. He wanted, among other things, to avoid a pistol
shot which might attract others to the spot.
The contest must be one of muscle against muscle; and to unusual
strength Clif added a surprising agility that came in good stead in such
a struggle.
They grappled, and there in that enclosure formed by the mounds of earth
on several sides the two began a furious hand to hand battle, the result
of which long hung in doubt.
The Spaniard was no mean opponent, and fought with enraged fury. Clif's
astounding exertions during the past hours had been enough to exhaust
the strongest and sturdiest, and he was compelled to acknowledge to
himself, as the battle progressed, that it had made inroads upon his
strength.
Back and forth across the little enclosure the pair fought fiercely.
Once Clif slipped and fell beneath his opponent; but an instant after he
was upon his feet.
His keen eye followed his antagonist's every move. He was watching for a
chance to deliver one blow that would settle the combat. Several times
he had landed upon the Spaniard's head and face, inflicting severe
punishment, but not enough.
At last the moment came. The opening presented itself in the Spaniard's
guard, and with all the strength that was in him, Clif shot out his
right hand. It went home. With a force that seemed to lift the fellow
high into the air, his fist met the Spaniard's chin, and the latter fell
backward to the ground.
It was a clean knockout. Breathing heavily, the fellow lay where he had
fallen, unconscious of his surroundings.
Clif was panting from the exertion. He had received some punishment, and
the wound in his arm was throbbing fiercely.
But he paused only long enough to see that the fellow would not give him
further trouble, and then hurried toward the spot where the shell had
rolled.
"I guess that'll hold you for a while," he muttered, looking at his
fallen foe as he started away.
"But he'll come out of it after a time," he added. "Gorry! how my arm
aches all the way up to the elbow."
It took but a moment for him to find the shell, for he had seen it roll
from the other's hand.
"That's it," he exclaimed, as he picked it up. "I'd know it in a minute
by its shape and weight. Rather light for a cannon ball."
But he did not wait to examine it there. There would be time enough for
that when he reached the flagship.
With a parting look at his unconscious antagonist he started away.
"I'm sorry, my dear sir," he exclaimed, sarcastically, as he looked back
on reaching the top of the rampart. "You seemed so attached to this
shell, I'd like to take you along with it. But as I can only take one at
a time, I'll content myself with this."
Then he turned his back upon the scene of his contest, and started for
his boat as expeditiously as due caution would allow.
He met with no obstacle in the way, and found the boat just as he had
left it. He threw the shell in the stern, and with a feeling of
exultation sprang in after it and seized the oars.
A few steady strokes and he was on the way toward the flagship. But
there had been a change in those quiet waters while he was on the land.
He had not gone many boat lengths from shore before he discovered
looming up before him a slowly moving steamer. It was apparently hugging
the coast and proceeding with as little noise as possible.
"A boat trying to run the blockade!" exclaimed Clif, as he backed water
and rested upon his oars. "She'll succeed, too, unless one of our ships
should happen to discover her with its searchlight."
And then his responsibility, in view of the discovery he had made,
flashed upon him.
"I must warn the flagship at once," he exclaimed, seizing the oars and
sending the boat forward with a spurt.
But after a couple of strokes he suddenly stopped again.
"What a fool I am!" he exclaimed. "By the time I can row out to the
flagship, it will be too late. They must be warned instantly, and there
is only one way of doing it."
He reached for the signal rockets he had brought at the rear admiral's
order. Should he fire them?
Those on board the strange boat that was nearly abreast of him did not
know that he was there. If he gave the signal it would betray his
presence, and no doubt lead to an attack upon himself in his open boat.
Clif looked far out to sea for a moment, half hoping to see the flash of
the searchlight play upon the water, and lead to the detection of the
strange craft.
But the delay was only momentary.
"It is my duty to warn the ships," he exclaimed, as he set a rocket up
in the stern, and drawing a match from his pocket, struck it upon the
seat of the boat. "Here goes!"
A moment later, with a sharp whirr and a flash of light, the rocket shot
up into the air. A second and third followed; then Clif sprang back upon
his seat and seized the oars.
The signal had been given. He had done his duty at whatever risk there
might be to his own safety.