"BACK! IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE!"
Cara had been mistaken when she supposed Howard had been carried off
in a wagon. A wagon had been used for several other prisoners, but
Howard had been tightly bound with rawhide thongs and lashed to the
back of a mule, which was then led away by one of the soldiers who had
accompanied the detachment on horseback.
It was apparent that Howard need expect no favors from those who had
him in charge. They considered him a spy, and as such destined to be
finally shot; therefore, what was the use of kindness to him? He was
jeered at and beaten, and when a halt was made for the night, at a
plantation farm-house, he felt more dead than alive.
Yet in the midst of his sore troubles the young man did not think
only of himself. He wondered where Estella and her maid were? Had the
beautiful girl returned to her father, or was she still alone and
unprotected in the district, now overrun with Spaniards and rebels?
"Would to Heaven I knew she was safe," he murmured. "I shudder at the
thought of the perils that environ her."
With half a dozen other prisoners Howard had been confined in the
cane-house, that is, the building in which the sugar-cane is sometimes
stored. He had been thrown rudely upon the mud floor in one corner of
the building, and a sentry had adopted the precaution of searching him
and taking away his weapons and the precious letters.
It was a damp, disagreeable place in which to be confined, but Howard
realized the uselessness of grumbling, and said nothing. One of the
other prisoners protested, and was promptly kicked for complaining.
"I do not wonder the Cubans rebel," he thought. "This treatment by the
Spaniards is sufficient to make even a worm turn."
Outside of the building a dozen Spaniards were encamped, the plantation
home being too crowded to accommodate them. The soldiers killed a small
pig, roasted and ate it, but offered nothing to their prisoners. It
looked as if they would have been delighted to have seen Howard and the
others starved to death.
At last, the camp outside of the cane-house became quiet, as one after
another dropped off to sleep. Presently but one soldier was awake,
the man at the cane-house door, left there on guard. He sat on a box,
smoking one rudely made cigar after another, and his long gun rested
across his knees, in readiness for use.
Immediately after being thrown down in the dark corner, Howard had
begun to pull and strain at the thongs which bound him. This was
painful work, and for a long time it seemed as if it would be useless,
also. But finally he managed to free one hand, then the other hand, and
then his feet quickly followed.
Turning over silently, Howard looked toward the guard, and by the light
of a smoking lantern hung over the doorway, he saw the man in the act
of lighting a fresh cigar. He immediately rose, and carelessly advanced
to the fellow's side. A quick movement, and he had the gun presented at
the head of the dumbfounded guard.
"Silence!" he commanded, in Spanish. "A word and your life will pay the
forfeit!"
The man's teeth began to chatter, and he quaked from head to heels. He
opened his mouth, but not a sound escaped him.
"Move on to yonder trees," went on Howard, in a whisper, as he pointed
the way. "And, remember, no noise."
Still trembling violently, the guard obeyed the order, and the
two found themselves beyond sight and hearing of those about the
cane-house. Howard made the guard walk still farther, however, until
all danger of being overheard was past.
"Now, answer my questions," he said, sternly. "Who is in command of
this body of men?"
"Captain Nocolo," was the prompt reply. The guard did not dare to
hesitate, for fear of death.
"Captain Nocolo. Where does he come from?"
"Santiago, señor."
"Do you know anything concerning him--his former business?"
"He was in the land business, señor--he bought and sold plantations."
"Who was in business with him?"
"One or two of the Mazenas family were with him."
"Ah! as I thought!" murmured the young war correspondent. "One of the
very chaps who cheated my uncle Robert out of his fortune. What strange
fate has brought us together!"
"You know him, señor?" questioned the guard.
"I know of him," returned Howard, bitterly. "Where is he now?"
"He went off with the young lady, and has not yet returned."
Howard started. Captain Nocolo had gone off with Estella? What could it
mean?
"Where did they go?"
"Down toward the bay, señor."
"What was done with my papers?" went on the young war correspondent.
The man hesitated before replying.
"They were burned----" he began, when Howard thrust the gun muzzle into
his face. "Dios, señor, don't shoot me!" he yelled. "I will give up
all."
And, without delay, he produced not only the precious letters, but
also Howard's pistol and several other articles, which the young war
correspondent quickly stored about his person. Howard was about to bind
and gag the man, when the tramp of horses' hoofs rang out close behind
them, and two men rode up, one close behind the other, as if to support
him.
"Hold! what means this?" cried the leader of the pair, as he drew rein.
"It's lucky we came up by the back way, Captain Nocolo. Here is a
prisoner escaping."
"The American spy!" burst from Captain Nocolo's lips, as he raised his
bruised head. "Shoot him, Lieutenant Mazenas!"
"And who is he!" questioned Lieutenant Mazenas, as he gazed fixedly at
the young war correspondent.
"Howard Sherwood--the heir of Robert Sherwood!" whispered Nocolo.
"Diablo!" growled Lieutenant Mazenas, hoarsely. "He is far better dead
than alive!"
With drawn sabre he urged forward his horse, intending to strike Howard
dead at his feet.
But the young war correspondent was too nimble for him. He leaped to
one side, and aimed his gun.
"Back, if you value your life!" he said, warningly.
Lieutenant Mazenas paid no heed, but charged forward again. The hammer
of the gun fell with a sharp click, but the gun, an old piece, failed
to go off.
"Ha! we have you now!" hissed the lieutenant. "Throw him down!" he
shouted to the guard, and leaped from his horse, intending to make
Howard a prisoner again.
Finding the gun useless, the young war correspondent turned to flee.
But the quarrel, brief as it was, had aroused those around the
cane-house, and the soldiers quickly surrounded him. With a vigorous
blow, Howard stretched one man senseless, and then a dozen pounced
upon him, and he was borne to the ground, and kicked and beaten until
unconscious.
"I have the inclination to kill him where he lies!" hissed Captain
Nocolo, as he stood by Howard's side, a grim smile of satisfaction on
his bony face. "But for him, the fair Estella----"
"What is it you say of Estella?" demanded Lieutenant Mazenas, glaring
savagely into his companion's face. "Remember, by the terms of our
contract, you relinquished her to me, heart and hand!"
With a muttered curse Captain Nocolo turned away to his men, while
Mazenas gave orders that Howard be removed to an old stone building
some distance from the cane-house. This was done, and when he came
to his senses, Howard found himself inside of four stone walls, and
heavily chained.
"I am in a worse pickle than before," he thought, dismally. "A prisoner
of Captain Nocolo, and Lieutenant Mazenas, and they both wish me out of
the way. It will be a miracle if I escape with my life!"
Hour after hour went by until dawn came on.
Then, all chained as he was, Howard was taken outside and strapped once
more to the back of a mule.
A journey lasting the best part of the day followed. It was over roads
deep with mud, made worse by the feet of hundreds of horses, and in a
blazing hot sun, which struck down on his uncovered head and made him
dizzy and faint. At noon he was released and given a portion of meat
cooked in a pot with garlic, but he could not eat the nauseating mess.
Water was all he desired, and this was given him, scooped out of the
muddy hollows by the wayside.
Dear reader, do not fancy that this is an over-drawn picture, painted
merely for the purpose of working upon your feelings. The picture is
painted from life; and what Howard Sherwood suffered, hundreds of
Cubans, fighting for that one priceless boon, Liberty, have suffered.
In many cases, to be made a prisoner was worse than to be killed,
for it meant galling chains, hunger, thirst, beating, and possibly
starvation. Is it a wonder that these hardy rebels, when engaged in
conflict, fought like demons, and came out victorious even when the
opposing forces were two and threefold larger than their own? It was
the dread of what might happen should defeat overtake them, that
steeled their hearts and hands, and made them know no such word as
surrender.
The end of the day found the party in sight of Marambo, and half an
hour later, Howard and his companions in chains, were driven like
cattle into the large stone building.
Once inside, Howard was conducted by special order to a narrow cell at
the farther end of a long corridor. Here he was chained fast to an iron
ring in the wall.
"Now you can remain there to rot, unless you are destined to be shot,"
said his jailer, and left him to his bitter reflections.