ONCE MORE AMONG THE HILLS.
Fortunately the road leading to the northern shore of Santiago Bay was
well known to Captain Guerez, who at one time had been a commissioner
of highways in that district.
"I do not know how we will fare on this trip," he remarked, as we rode
off only four strong--the captain, Alano, Burnham, and myself. "At one
spot we will have to pass the railroad, and I understand that is now
under strict Spanish surveillance."
"We'll have to take matters as they come," I returned. "We must save my
father at any cost--at least, I shall attempt to do so."
"I am with you, Mark," said the captain earnestly. "Next to my family,
there is no one to whom I am more attached."
"And I go in for helping any American," put in Burnham.
Alano simply smiled at me. But that smile was enough. I felt that my
Cuban chum could be depended upon to stick to me through thick and thin.
Nightfall found us in the midst of a long range of hills, covered
with a heavy growth of oaks, cedars, and mahogany. The vines which
I mentioned before were here as thick as ever, and in the darkness
Gilbert Burnham suddenly gave a yell and slid from the back of his
horse to the ground.
"What's the matter?" we cried in chorus.
"Matter!" he growled. "Nothing, only a vine caught me under the chin,
and I thought I was about to be hung."
We laughed at this, but my humor was soon short, as another vine
slipped over my forehead, taking my Panama hat with it.
After this we were more careful, fearful that some of us might be
seriously injured, and a little later we went into camp in the midst of
a tiny clearing.
We were just finishing our supper when a most doleful howl arose on the
air, coming from the rear and to the right of us. I leaped up and drew
my pistol, expecting to be attacked by some wild animal.
"Here's excitement!" ejaculated the newspaper correspondent. "What can
it be--a bear?"
He had hardly finished when a perfect chorus of howls arose, coming
closer. I gazed in alarm at Captain Guerez and Alano. My chum laughed
outright.
"Don't get scared, Mark; they are only wild dogs."
"Wild dogs!" put in Burnham. "Well that is the worst yet! And they are
not dangerous?"
"If you met a large number of them alone they might be," replied
Captain Guerez. "But they won't think of attacking such a party as
ours. They'll hang around until we leave and then search the camp for
stray food."
In spite of this explanation, however, Burnham insisted that a guard be
kept during the night, and we each took two hours at the task. Before
the sun had struck us from over the treetops, we had breakfast and were
off. Sure enough, the wild dogs rushed in the moment we had left the
opening. They were a lean and ugly-looking set of curs.
"It's a terrible thing when these wild dogs and a bloodhound on the
trail meet," observed Captain Guerez. "Of course one wild dog cannot do
much, but the whole pack will fall on the bloodhound, and in the end
the larger dog will be killed and literally torn to shreds."
A storm was approaching, but this did not discourage us, although
Burnham growled as usual. In fact, we soon found that he was a chronic
fault-finder, but then he seldom meant half that he said, and, taken
all in all, he was good company.
"If the storm grows heavy it will give us a good chance to cross the
railroad tracks," remarked the captain. "The sentries will relax their
vigilance and more than likely seek shelter under the trees."
"Won't we strike some settlement before that?" I asked.
"Oh, yes; we are on the outskirts of Los Hanios now."
Five minutes later we rode into a small village occupied principally
by half a hundred cattlemen, for we were now coming to the meadows and
valleys in which immense herds of cows and sheep are pastured. The
people of Los Hanios took but little interest in the revolution, and as
a consequence had been but little molested either by the Spaniards or
Cubans, although a portion of their cattle had been confiscated.
From one of the head cattlemen Captain Guerez learned that a body of
Spaniards had passed through the village the afternoon before bound for
Santiago. They had several prisoners, who were tied hands and feet, and
fast to the mules which carried them. At least one of the prisoners had
been _un Americano_.
At Los Hanios we procured dinner, a splendid meal--the best I had
eaten since leaving the steamer, for it consisted of prime roast beef
done to a turn, potatoes and beans and coffee. Burnham attended to
the cooking, saying he had cooked many a meal for himself during his
Bohemian life at the "Hub," and consequently all the dishes were turned
out in true American style, garlic and such stuff being for once
tabooed.
Yet I hurried matters, wishing to catch up with my father as soon as
possible. I wondered if he knew I was after him, and how he was faring.
I felt certain that to be bound to the back of a mule over these rough
trails could be anything but a pleasant sensation.
While we were still in sight of Los Hanios it began to rain, and we
had not made over a mile when the downpour became very heavy. Burnham
wished to take shelter under some trees, but I would not hear of it,
and Alano and his father backed me up in my idea.
"We can rest a-plenty when Mr. Carter is once more safe," said the
captain, and that ended the discussion.
On and on we went, until, looking ahead, we espied a turn in the road.
Beyond this was a bank six or eight feet in height, and this was where
the railroad tracks were located.
"We had best dismount and go ahead on foot," said the captain. "A
sentry could easily see our animals if he had his eyes about him."
"If he wasn't asleep," put in Burnham. "I fancy these Spaniards and
Cubans do a lot of sleeping whenever they get the chance."
"Not in war-times," said Alano, who did not fancy this slur upon his
countrymen. "Of course we are not so nervous and impatient as some of
the Americans," he added pointedly, and Burnham took the hint and said
no more on the subject.
A fierce rattle of thunder stopped all talking soon after. The
lightning became almost incessant, and glared and flared along the
railroad tracks as far as eye could see. We came together close to a
clump of berry bushes.
"Wait a moment," whispered Captain Guerez. "I think I saw a sentry not
over fifty feet away!"
At this announcement all of us crouched down, and each looked to his
weapons, feeling that a crisis might be at hand. Alano's father moved
like a shadow up to the railroad bank.
"I was right," he announced, after a particularly bright flash of
lightning; "I saw his gun-barrel plainly."
"Can we pass him?" asked Alano.
"We can try, but----"
"If he sees us why can't we make him a prisoner?" I broke in. "If we
did that, we would have a chance to bring our horses up the bank and
over the tracks."
"I was thinking as much," said the captain. "The horses must be gotten
over; that is necessary."
He deliberated for a minute, and then motioned us forward, warning
us at the same time to keep perfectly silent. On we went, to where
something of a trail led up over the railroad embankment. There were a
few bushes growing in the vicinity, and we skulked beside these, almost
crawling along the ground.
Several minutes passed, and the top of the embankment was reached and
we stood on the glistening tracks. Down we plunged on the opposite
side, and not over a dozen paces from where the Spanish sentry was
standing.
"_Halte!_" came the unexpected cry, and the man rushed forward,
pointing his gun as he ran. But for once fate was in our favor. A
trailing vine tripped him up and he went headlong.
Before the Spanish soldier could collect his senses, or make a movement
to rise, Captain Guerez and myself were on him. The captain sat down
astride of the fellow's back, while I secured his gun and clapped my
hand over his mouth, to keep him from calling for assistance. A second
later Alano and the newspaper man came up, and the Spaniard was our
prisoner.
"Now bring the horses over, as quickly as possible!" said the captain
to his son and Burnham. "Mark and I will guard this fellow."
At once Alano and Burnham departed. The prisoner struggled wildly to
escape, but we held him fast, and presently Captain Guerez pulled out
his sword and pointed it at the fellow's throat.
"Not a sound, on your life!" he commanded in Spanish, and the prisoner
became mute instantly.
The sharpness of the lightning and the deafening thunder had frightened
our animals a good deal, and Alano and the newspaper man had all they
could do to bring them up the embankment, which in one spot was quite
steep. Just as the railroad tracks were reached one of the horses broke
away, and with a loud snort ran down the road, his hoofs clattering
loudly on the ties and the iron rails. Alano endeavored to catch him,
with the result that another broke loose and went up the road in the
same fashion.
"_Halte!_" came from half a dozen different directions, and as if by
magic as many Spanish sentries showed themselves along the embankment.
A flash of lightning revealed Alano and Burnham, and crack! crack!
crack! went three carbines almost simultaneously. The alarm was taken
up on several sides, and soon we found the best part of a company of
Spanish soldiery swooping down upon us.