When Santiago Fell: or, The War Adventures of Two Chums

CHAPTER X.
A COUNCIL OF THE ENEMY

“Well, this is the worst yet,” I said, after a minute of silence. Somehow, I felt like laughing, yet our situation was far from being a laughing matter.

“We have put our foot into it, and no mistake,” rejoined Alano dubiously.

“Say feet, Alano, – and legs, – and you’ll be nearer it. What on earth is to be done?”

“I don’t know. See, I am up to my thighs already. In an hour or so I’ll be up to my neck.”

To this I made no reply. I had drawn my pistol, and with the crook of the handle was endeavoring to hook a thick sugar-cane stalk within my reach. Several times I had the stalk bent over, but it slipped just as I was on the point of grasping it.

But I persevered, – there was nothing else to try, – and at last my eager fingers encircled the stalk. I put my pistol away and pulled hard, and was overjoyed to find that I was drawing myself up out of my unpleasant position.

“Be careful – or the stalk will break,” cautioned my Cuban chum, when crack! it did split, but not before I was able to make a quick leap on top of the clump of roots. Here I sank again, but not nearly as deeply as before.

The leap I had taken had brought me closer to Alano, and now I was enabled to break down a number of stalks within his reach. He got a firm hold and pulled with all of his might, and a moment later stood beside me.

“Oh, but I’m glad we’re out of that!” were his first words. “I thought I was planted for the rest of my life.”

“We must get out of the field. See, it will be pitch dark in another quarter of an hour.”

“Let us try to go back – it will be best.”

We turned around, and took hold of each other’s hands, to balance ourselves on the sugar-cane roots, for we did not dare to step in the hollows between. Breaking down the cane was slow and laborious work, and soon it was too dark to see our former trail. We lost it, but this was really to our advantage, for, by going it blindly for another quarter of an hour, we emerged into an opening nearly an acre square and on high and dry ground.

Once the patch was reached, we threw ourselves down on the grass panting for breath, the heavy perspiration oozing from every pore. We had had another narrow escape, and silently I thanked Heaven for my deliverance.

Toward the higher end of the clearing was a small hut, built of logs plastered with sun-baked clay. We came upon it by accident in the dark, and, finding it deserted, lit our bit of candle before mentioned and made an examination.

“It’s a cane-cutter’s shanty,” said Alano. “I don’t believe anybody will be here to-night, so we might as well remain and make ourselves comfortable.”

“We can do nothing else,” I returned. “We can’t travel in the darkness.”

Both of us were too exhausted to think of building a fire or preparing a meal. We ate some of our provisions out of our hands, pulled off our water-soaked boots, and were soon asleep on the heaps of stalks the shanty contained. Once during the night I awoke to find several species of vermin crawling around, but even this was not sufficient to make me rouse up against the pests. I lay like a log, and the sun was shining brightly when Alano shook me heartily by the shoulder.

“Going to sleep all day?” he queried.

“Not much!” I cried, springing up. “Hullo, if you haven’t got breakfast ready!” I added, glancing to where he had built a fire.

“Yes; I thought I’d let you sleep for a while,” he answered. “Fall to, and we’ll be on our way. If we have good luck we may strike a part of General Garcia’s army to-day.”

“If we can get out of this beastly canefield.”

“I’ve found a way out, Mark. Finish your meal, and I’ll show you.”

Breakfast was speedily dispatched, and, having put on my boots, which were stiff and hard from the wetting received, and taken up my valise, I followed Alano to the extreme southwest end of the clearing. Here there was an ox-cart trail, leading in a serpentine fashion through the canefield to still higher ground. Beyond were the inevitable rocks and woods.

“We seem to have missed everything,” I said pointedly. “We have been lost several times, and even now we don’t know where we are.”

“We know we’re not sinking to the bottom of that sugar-cane field,” replied my Cuban chum grimly. “That’s something to be thankful for. Ah, look – there is quite a respectable-looking highway. Let us take to that and keep our eyes and ears open. It must lead to somewhere.”

We had reached the highway at right-angles, and now we pursued a course directly eastward, which we felt must bring us closer and closer to the vicinity of Guantanamo. I asked Alano if he recognized the country at all, but he shook his head.

“I was never out in this direction,” he explained. “My journeys have always been from Guantanamo to Santiago by water.”

As we progressed we passed several isolated huts, and then a village containing perhaps a score of dwellings. The separate huts were deserted without exception, but in the village we came across three tall and bony colored women, who eyed us with great suspicion.

Alano began to open a friendly conversation in Spanish with them, and offered to pay them well if they would get us up a good dinner. But this they could not do, for there was little to be had outside of some vegetables. They said they had had some meat, but it had all been confiscated by the soldiers who had passed through only the evening before.

“She means a body of Spanish soldiers,” said Alano, after some more talk with the oldest of the women. “She says there were about a hundred of them on horseback, and they were following up a detachment of General Garcia’s volunteers.”

“If that is so they can’t be far off,” I rejoined. “We must be more careful than ever.”

"If only we could catch up to them, get around them, and warn our fellows!" remarked Alano, his black eyes sparkling.

“It’s easy to see you’re a rebel,” I said, laughing.

“And why not – if my father is one? Come, what do you say?”

“I am with you, if it can be done. But we mustn’t run into needless danger, Alano.”

“We will take care, Mark.”

Luckily, the sun had gone under the clouds, so it was not so warm when we resumed our journey, after the negro women had supplied us with the best meal at their command. They smiled broadly when Alano told them he was a rebel sympathizer, and each declared her husband had joined General Garcia’s army several weeks previously.

The road now led along the southern edge of a deep ravine, bordered upon either side with wild plantains and cacao trees, with here and there an occasional palm. The highway was stony, and presently Alano called a halt.

“Hark!” he said, holding up his hand; and we listened, to discern the tramping of horses' hoofs some distance ahead.

“There are a good many horses,” I said. “Perhaps it is the Spanish detachment.”

Alano nodded. “Follow me, and take to the woods if I hiss,” he replied.

On we went again, but slower than before. The road now wound around to the right, up under a cliff backed up by a small mountain. As the sun was behind the mountain, the path was dark in its more sheltered portions.

Suddenly Alano let out a soft hiss, and we leaped back behind a convenient rock.

“They are just ahead!” he cried softly. “They have quartered themselves for the middle of the day in a cave-like opening under the cliff, where it is, no doubt, cool and pleasant.”

“Well, what had we best do?”

“Get around them, by some means, Mark. But, hold up! Wouldn’t it be fine if we could draw close enough to overhear them – if they are talking over their plans!”

“It would be risky,” I hesitated.

“Yes, but think of the service we might do my countrymen!”

“That is true. Well, I’m with you, Alano, but for gracious' sake be careful!”

We talked the matter over for a few minutes, and then retraced our steps to where a narrow path led to the top of the cliff. Climbing this, we crawled along the edge of the cliff until we reached a spot directly over the encamped Spaniards.

They were a hearty, bold-looking set of men, handsomely uniformed and thoroughly armed, presenting a decided contrast to the dirty guerrillas we had previously encountered. A number of the soldiers were reclining upon the ground smoking, but a half-dozen of them, evidently officers, were gathered in a circle, conversing earnestly.

“They are holding a council of war!” cried Alano, after he had strained his ears to catch what was being said. “They are waiting for Captain Crabo to join them with another detachment, and then they are to aid some others in surrounding the left wing of General Garcia’s army, which is encamped in the valley on the other side of this mountain.”

CHAPTER XI.
A WILD RIDE ON HORSEBACK

I was of course deeply interested in what Alano had to say, and my heart gave a sudden leap when he mentioned that General Garcia’s wing of the rebel army was so close at hand. Instantly I thought of my father. Was he in the ranks?

I was about to speak when my Cuban chum motioned me to silence. As cautiously as a cat he drew closer to the edge of the cliff, throwing himself flat on his face as he made the movement. I followed suit, knowing full well that I would scarcely be able to understand the council of war being held below, but anxious to get a better view of the soldiery we now considered our enemies.

Evidently the Spanish officers did not imagine any outsiders were near, for they spoke rather loudly, while each gesticulated a good deal in his own particular manner. Ten minutes passed, and then there came a pause. Alano touched me on the arm, and, as silently as we had advanced, we turned and retreated into the brush back of the cliff.

“I have their plans well in mind, Mark,” he whispered. “Oh, if only we could find General Garcia and tell him all!”

“Did you find out just where the general is located?”

“Pretty nearly – in that direction” – my Cuban chum waved his hand. “There is a ravine to cross and then a pass through the mountains. I believe the rebels now hold the pass, but the Spaniards mean to gain the high ground and hem them in. If they do that, my people will be slaughtered like cattle in a pen.”

“And supposing our fathers are with the rebels?” I put in quickly.

“Yes, I was thinking of that, Mark. We had best – Hist!”

Alano stopped short. From a distance came the sounds of horses' hoofs.

“It must be Captain Crabo,” said Alano. “Lay low!”

We drew still further into the brush and waited. Nearer and nearer came the horses. Then came a shout and a sudden halting.

“They’ve challenged the newcomers,” whispered Alano, as we heard the words “Quien va?”

Evidently the reply was satisfactory, for in a moment more the new arrivals had joined the force under the cliff. Looking from our shelter, we saw that Captain Crabo was the same individual who had had us locked up in the smoke-house some days previously.

“We don’t want him to lay hands on us again,” I said, and Alano smiled grimly. “Why not get out at once?” I went on.

“Wait till I hear what Captain Crabo has to say, Mark. He may bring news, and we want to learn as much as we can. If they – ”

My Cuban chum was forced to stop speaking, for with a quick movement I had placed a warning hand over his mouth. Some of the soldiers who had been resting were coming up the cliff, evidently to take a look at the surroundings.

“Come!” I whispered into Alano’s ear, and turned to retreat. He followed me, and a distance of fifty feet was covered through the undergrowth, when we found ourselves at the edge of another cliff and actually hemmed in by the advancing men.

What were we to do? It was a serious question, and one to be decided instantly. Already the foremost of the men was less than two rods behind us. We looked around for a place to hide, but none was at hand. Then Alano gave a cry.

“They are coming from the other direction too! We are lost!”

Scarcely had the words left his lips than we heard a yell from two of the Spanish soldiers. We were discovered, and all thoughts of further concealment in that hemmed-in spot were out of the question.

Hardly realizing what I was doing in my agitated frame of mind, I ran down to the very edge of the cliff at a point about a hundred and fifty feet above where the soldiers were encamped. Looking down I discovered a series of crags leading to the highway below. Here a score or more of horses were tethered to a mahogany tree.

“Come, it’s our only chance!” I ejaculated, and leaped for the nearest crag below me at the imminent peril of tumbling and breaking my neck.

Down I went, jumping and rolling from one projection of rocks to another, with Alano but a short distance behind me. I heard a command to stop, and then a shot, but paid no heed. With a final bump I reached the foot of the cliff, less than a dozen feet from where the horses were standing.

My sudden appearance startled several of the animals, and they plunged and broke their halters. But they did not run away, and the fact that they were loose gave me another idea.

“The horses, Alano! Let us ride away on them!”

“Yes! yes!” he replied, and in a twinkle we had secured two of the nearest of the animals. We leaped into the saddle just as a second shot rang out. The bullet struck my horse a glancing blow on the flank, and off he tore up the highway as though dug with a spur.

I heard Alano coming behind me, but did not dare look back, for the highway was a poor one and my beast needed all of my attention. Fortunately, riding had been taught to me at Broxville Military Academy, so I felt fairly well at home in the saddle. Gathering up the reins, I sent the animal along at all the speed at his command. The shouting behind continued, but no more shots were fired, for the trees now hid both of us from our pursuers.

“That was a clever move,” cried Alano, as he presently ranged up beside me. “We have escaped them and provided ourselves with as good horses as one would wish to ride.”

“They will certainly follow us, Alano. We must see if we can’t throw them off the trail.”

“I see no side road.”

“Well, come on until we strike something.” I answered.

Forward we went, making both horses do their best. Half a mile was covered and we forded a small mountain torrent. As the animals paused to stick their noses into the cooling liquid, we listened and heard the Spaniards coming after us on the remainder of the animals.

“Quick!” cried Alano. “They have lost no time in following.”

“There is a side road, leading into the mountains,” I returned. “We had better take that.”

We turned off as I had advised, and it was not long before another half-mile was covered. Having reached an elevation of several hundred feet, the road became broad and tolerably level, and we went on faster than ever.

“We ought to be getting close to the rebel camp,” said Alano, a while later. “By the looks of the country we should be near that pass the rebels are supposed to be occupying.”

“I doubt if it is long before we strike some of your people now,” I answered. “But supposing we slack up a bit? The horses can’t stand this strain in the heat.”

“Oh, they are used to the heat. But we can take it easier if you say so. There isn’t any use of our riding ourselves sore the first day in the saddle.”

“I suppose they can put us down for horse thieves if they want to.”

“Not much, Mark. Why, it’s more than likely these horses were confiscated from my countrymen in the first place.”

Thus conversing, we galloped along for half a mile further. Then, as Alano paused to readjust his horse’s saddle, I fancied I heard some suspicious sounds behind us, and drew my chum’s attention to them.

“Horses!” cried Alano. “They must have found our trail, and are coming after us! Come ahead, or we’ll be captured after all!”

Once more we urged our animals forward. But not for long. Coming to a turn in the road, Alano yelled to me to halt, and pointed ahead.

I gave a groan as I looked. A mountain stream, all of twelve feet wide and twice as deep, crossed the roadway. There had been a rude bridge of tree trunks, but this was torn away, and thus our further retreat seemed hopelessly cut off.

CHAPTER XII.
A DARING LEAP

For the moment neither Alano nor myself spoke as we gazed at the gap before us. Then I gave a groan which seemed to come from my very soul.

“We are lost, Alano! They have hemmed us in!”

My Cuban chum did not answer. Instead, he gazed to the right and the left.

But this was useless. On our right was a stony undergrowth impossible to traverse, on the left a thick jungle leading down into what looked like a bottomless morass.

The hoof-strokes of the pursuing horses sounded nearer, and I expected every moment to see the band of Spanish cavalrymen dash into sight with drawn arms, ready to shoot or cut us down. Alano must have been thinking the same, for I saw him grate his teeth hard.

“Mark!” he cried suddenly. “Come, it’s our only hope.”

“What?”

“To cross the stream.”

“But how? We can’t jump it.”

“We’ll make the horses do it. Be quick, or it will be too late. Watch me. I am certain these horses know how to do the trick.”

He rode back a distance of two hundred feet. Then on he came, like the wind, his animal well in hand. A cry of command, and the horse rose in the air and went over the chasm like a bird.

Could I do as well? There was no time left to speculate on the subject. Our pursuers were but just around the turn. I rode back as Alano had done and started to make the leap.

“Halte!” It was the cry of Captain Crabo, who was in the lead of the oncoming cavalrymen. I paid no attention. The edge of the mountain stream was reached, and I cried to my horse to move forward.

But he was stubborn, and made a balk for which I was hardly prepared. Down went his front feet against a bit of sharp rock, and the shock threw me over his head and directly into the middle of the mountain torrent!

I heard Alano give a cry of alarm, and then the waters closed over my head. Down and down I went, for at this point the water was at least fifteen feet deep. The sunlight was shut out as I passed under several overhanging rocks, only to bump up against the roots of a tree, where the water rushed rapidly in several directions.

Dazed to such an extent that I hardly knew what I was doing, I caught at the roots, held fast, and drew my head above the surface of the stream. I was out of sight of those who were after me, and prudently concluded to remain where I was.

My hiding-place was far from agreeable. The tree roots were slimy, and I imagined they must be the home of water snakes. Just over my head was a mass of soil over which crawled innumerable black beetles, some as big as a man’s thumb. Within reach of my hand, a large green-and-white frog blinked at me in amazement.

The shouts of the Spaniards reached me in a muffled way, as I heard them dismount and tramp up and down the torrent in search of me. I expected every moment to be discovered, but that moment did not come, and quarter of an hour passed.

By this time I could scarcely hold on longer to the tree roots. I listened as well as I could, and, hearing no sound, let go my hold. The rush of water speedily carried me fifteen feet further down the stream, and here I caught hold of some bushes and pulled myself up on the bank and out of sight.

I was now on the same side to which Alano had crossed, and I soon discovered that several of the Spaniards had also come over, although on foot. They were in the neighborhood of the highway, and I could make out enough of their talk to know they were deploring their luck in not being able to find me and stop my Cuban chum.

Feeling that it would be foolhardy to leave my place of concealment for some time to come, I endeavored to make myself as comfortable as possible under the shelter of a clump of wild orange trees. These were full of the tempting-looking fruit, which, however, I found on sampling was so bitter it fairly puckered my mouth. But in my bag were some biscuits, and, as these were thoroughly water-soaked, I ate several with a relish.

Twice did the Spaniards pass within fifty feet of my hiding-place, and each time I felt like giving myself up for lost. They remained in the vicinity until nearly sundown, and then withdrew in the direction from whence they had come, growling volubly among themselves over their ill-luck.

With cautious steps I left the clump of wild oranges, and hurried to the highway. As Alano was on horseback, I felt he must have kept to the road. How far he had gone there was no telling, although it must be several miles if not much further.

While at the military academy we boys had, like many other school fellows, adopted a peculiar class whistle. This I felt certain Alano would remember well, and, at the risk of being spotted, I emitted the whistle with all the strength of my lungs, not once, but half a dozen times.

I listened intently, but no answer came back; and, satisfied that my chum was not within hearing, I went on my way, up the road, keeping an eye open for any enemy who might be in ambush.

It was now growing dark, and I felt that in another half-hour night would be upon me. To be alone in that wilderness was not pleasant, but just then there appeared to be no help for it.

At the distance of half a mile I stopped again to whistle. While I was listening intently I fancied I heard a rustle among the trees to my right. I instantly dove out of sight behind some brush, but the noise did not continue, and I concluded it must have been made by some bird.

Presently the road took another turn and made a descent into a canyon from which the light of day had long since fled. I hesitated and looked forward. Certainly the prospect was not an inviting one. But to turn back I felt would be foolish, so I went on, although more cautiously than ever.

At the bottom of the hollow was a bit of muddy ground, over which a mass of cut brush had been thrown, probably to make the passage safer for man and beast. I had just stepped on this brush when something whizzed through the air and encircled my neck. Before I could save myself, I was jerked backward and felt a rawhide lasso cutting into my windpipe. I caught hold of the rawhide and tried to rise, but several forms arose out of the surrounding gloom and fell upon me, bearing me to the earth.