Edward Stratemeyer - When Santiago Fell - or, The War Adventures of Two Chums

“The Spaniards will not move in this weather,” said one. “They are too afraid of getting wet and taking cold.”

Darkness had come upon us, and it was still raining as steadily as ever. Our clothing was dry; and, as the cave was warmed, the rebel guards ordered us to put out the fire, that it might not attract attention during the night.

We were told that we had made several mistakes on the road and were far away from Tiarriba. If we desire to go there, the rebels said they would put us on the right road.

“But if you are in sympathy with us, you had better pass Tiarriba by,” said one to Alano. “The city is filled with Spanish soldiers, and you may not be able to get away as easily as you did from Santiago.”

Alano consulted with me, and then asked the rebel what we had best do.

“That depends. Do you want to join the forces under General Garcia?”

“We want to join our fathers at or near Guantanamo.”

“Garcia is pushing on in that direction. You had best join the army and stay with it until Guantanamo is reached.”

“But we will have to fight?” said my Cuban chum.

The guard smiled grimly, exhibiting a row of large white teeth.

“As you will. The general will not expect too much from boys.”

There the talk ended, one of the rebels deeming it advisable to take a tramp over to the next hill and back, and the other crouching down in a corner for a nap. With nothing else to do, we followed the example of the latter, and were soon in dreamland.

A single call from the man who had slept beside us brought us to our feet at daybreak. The storm had cleared away, and now it was positively cool – so much so that I was glad enough to button my coat up tightly and be thankful that the fire had dried it so well. The second rebel was asleep, and had been for two hours. We followed one out of the cave without arousing the other.

A tramp of half a mile brought us to a high bank, and here our rebel escort left us.

“Across the bank you will find a wagon-road leading to the west,” he said. "Follow that, and you cannot help but meet some of our party sooner or later. Remember the new password, ‘Maysi,’ and you will be all right," and then he turned and disappeared from sight in the bush.

The climb to the top of the bank was not difficult, and, once over it, the road he had mentioned lay almost at our feet. We ran down to it with lighter hearts than we had had for some time, and struck out boldly, eating a light breakfast as we trudged along.

“I hope we strike no more adventures until the vicinity of Guantanamo is reached,” I observed.

“We can hardly hope for that, Mark,” smiled my chum. “Remember we are journeying through a country where war is raging. Let us be thankful if we escape the battles and skirmishes.”

“And shooting down by some ambitious sharpshooter,” I added. “By the way, I wonder if our folks are looking for us?”

“It may be they sent word not to come, when they saw how matters were going, Mark. I am sure your father would not want you to run the risk that – Look! look! We must hide!”

Alano stopped short, caught me by the arm, and pointed ahead. Around a turn in the road a dozen horsemen had swept, riding directly toward us. A glance showed that they were Spanish guerrillas!

“ Halte! ”

It was the cry of the nearest of the Spanish horsemen. He had espied us just as Alano let out his cry of alarm, and now he came galloping toward us at a rapid gait.

“Let us run!” I ejaculated to my Cuban chum. “It is our only chance.”

“Yes, yes! but to where?” he gasped, staring around in bewilderment. On one side of the road was a woods of mahogany, on the other some palms and plantains, with here and there a great rock covered with thick vines.

“Among the rocks – anywhere!” I returned. “Come!” And, catching his hand, I led the way from the road while the horseman was yet a hundred feet from us.

Another cry rang out – one I could not understand, and a shot followed, clipping through the broad leaves over our heads. The horseman left the road, but soon came to a stop, his animal’s progress blocked by the trees and rocks. He yelled to his companions, and all of the guerrillas came up at topmost speed.

“They will dismount and be after us in a minute!” gasped Alano. “Hark! they are coming already!”

“On! on!” I urged. “We’ll find some hiding-place soon.”

Around the rocks and under the low-hanging plantains we sped, until the road was left a hundred yards behind. Then we came to a gully, where the vegetation was heavy. Alano pointed down to it.

“We can hide there,” he whispered. “But we will be in danger of snakes. Yet it is the best we can do.”

I hesitated. To make the acquaintanceship of a serpent in that dense grass was not pleasant to contemplate. But what else was there to do? The footsteps of our pursuers sounded nearer.

Down went Alano, making leaps from rock to rock, so that no trail would be left. I followed at his heels, and, coming to a rock which was partly hollowed out at one side and thickly overgrown, we crouched under it and pulled the vines and creepers over us.

It was a damp, unwholesome spot, but there was no help for it, and when several enormous black beetles dropped down and crawled around my neck I shut my lips hard to keep from crying out. We must escape from the enemy, no matter what the cost, for even if they did not make us prisoners we knew they would take all we possessed and even strip the coats from our backs.

Peering from between the vines, we presently caught sight of three of the Spaniards standing at the top of the gully, pistols in hand, on the alert for a sight of us. They were dark, ugly-looking fellows, with heavy black mustaches and faces which had not had a thorough washing in months. They were dressed in the military uniform of Spain, and carried extra bags of canvas slung from their shoulders, evidently meant for booty. That they were tough customers Alano said one could tell by their vile manner of speech.

“Do you see them, Carlo?” demanded one of the number. “I thought they went down this hollow?”

“I see nothing,” was the answer, coupled with a vile exclamation. “They disappeared as if by magic.”

“They were but boys.”

“Never mind, they were rebels – that is enough,” put in the third guerrilla, as he chewed his mustache viciously. “I wish I could get a shot at them.”

At this Alano pulled out his pistol and motioned for me to do the same.

“We may as well be prepared for the worst,” he whispered into my ear. “They are not soldiers, they are robbers – bandits.”

“They look bad enough for anything,” I answered, and produced my weapon, which I had not discharged since the brush with the alligator.

“If they are in the hollow it is odd we do not see them on their trail,” went on one of the bandits. “Perhaps they went around.”

His companions shook their heads.

“I’ll thrash around a bit,” said one of them; and, leaving the brink of the gully, he started straight for our hiding-place.

My heart leaped into my throat, and I feared immediate discovery. As for Alano, he shoved his pistol under his coat, and I heard a muffled click as the hammer was raised.

When within ten feet of us the ugly fellow stopped, and I fairly held my breath, while my heart appeared to beat like a trip-hammer. He looked squarely at the rock which sheltered us, and I could not believe he would miss discovering us. Once he started and raised his pistol, and I imagined our time had come; but then he turned to one side, and I breathed easier.

“They did not come this way, capitan !” he shouted. “Let us go around the hollow.”