knees, made our way along a low hedge to where several broad palms overshadowed a side veranda. The door of the veranda was open, and, motioning to Alano to follow, I ascended the broad steps and dashed into the house.
“Now where?” questioned my Cuban chum, as we hesitated in the broad and cool hallway. “Here is a sitting room,” and he opened the door to it.
A voice broke upon our ear. A negro woman was singing from the direction of the kitchen, as she rattled among her earthenware pots. Evidently she was alone.
“If they left her on guard, we have little to fear,” I said, and we entered the sitting room. Both of us uttered a faint cry of joy, for there on the table rested our valises and provisions, just as they had been taken from us. Inside of Alano’s bag were the two pistols with the cartridges.
“Now we can go at once,” I said. “How fortunate we have been! Let us not waste time here.”
“They owe us a meal for detaining us,” replied my chum grimly. “Let me explore the pantry in the next room.”
He went through the whip-end curtains without a sound, and was gone several minutes. When he came back his face wore a broad smile and he carried a large napkin bursting open with eatables of various kinds, a piece of cold roast pork, some rice cakes, buns, and the remains of a chicken pie.
“We’ll have a supper fit for a king!” he cried. “Come on! I hear that woman coming.”
And coming she was, in her bare feet, along the polished floor. We had just time left to seize our valises and make our escape when she entered.
“Qué quiere V.? [What do you want?]” she shouted, and then called upon us to stop; but, instead, we ran from the dooryard as fast as we could, and did not halt until the plantation was left a good half mile behind.
“We are well out of that!” I gasped, throwing myself down under the welcome shade of a cacao tree. “Do you suppose she will send the soldiers in pursuit?”
“They would have hard work to find us,” replied Alano. “Here, let us sample this eating I brought along, and then be on our way. Remember we have still many miles to go.”
We partook of some of the chicken pie and some buns, the latter so highly spiced they almost made me sneeze when I ate them, and then went on our way again.
Our run had warmed us up, and now the sun beat down upon our heads mercilessly as we stalked through a tangle where the luxurious vegetation was knee-high. We were glad enough when we reached another woods, through which there was a well-defined, although exceedingly poor, wagon trail. Indeed, let me add, nearly all of the wagon roads in Cuba, so I have since been told, are wretched affairs at the best.
“We ought to be in the neighborhood of Tiarriba,” said Alano about the middle of the afternoon.
“We won’t dare enter the town,” I replied. “Those soldiers were going there, you must remember.”
“Oh, the chances are we’ll find rebels enough – on the quiet,” he rejoined.
On we went, trudging through sand and shells and not infrequently through mire several inches to a foot deep. It was hard work, and I wished more than once that we were on horseback. There was also a brook to cross, but the bridge was gone and there was nothing left to do but to ford the stream.
“It’s not to our boot-tops,” said Alano, after an examination, “so we won’t have to take our boots and socks off. Come; I fancy there is a good road ahead.”
He started into the water, and I went after him. We had reached the middle of the stream when both of us let out a wild yell, and not without reason, for we had detected a movement from the opposite bank, and now saw a monstrous alligator bearing swiftly down upon us!
CHAPTER V.
LOST AMONG THE HILLS
Both Alano and I were almost paralyzed by the sight of the huge alligator bearing down upon us, his mouth wide open, showing his cruel teeth, and his long tail shifting angrily from side to side.
“Back!” yelled my Cuban chum, and back we went, almost tumbling over each other in our haste to gain the bank from where we had started.
The alligator lost no time in coming up behind, uttering what to me sounded like a snort of rage. He had been lying half-hidden in the mud, and the mud still clung to his scaly sides and back. Altogether, he was the most horrible creature I had ever beheld.
Reaching the bank of the brook, with the alligator not three yards behind us, we fled up a series of rocks overgrown with moss and vines. We did not pause until we were at the very summit, then both of us drew our pistols and fired at the blinking eyes. The bullets glanced from the “'gator’s” head without doing much harm, and with another snort the terrifying beast turned back into the brook and sank into a pool out of sight.
“My gracious, Alano, supposing he had caught us!” I gasped, when I could catch my breath.
“We would have been devoured,” he answered, with a shudder, for of all creatures the alligator is the one most dreaded by Cubans, being the only living beast on the island dangerous to life because of its strength.
“He must have been lying in wait for somebody,” I remarked, after a moment’s pause, during which we kept our eyes on the brook, in a vain attempt to gain another look at our tormentor.
“He was – it is the way they do, Mark. If they can, they wait until you are alongside of them. Then a blow from the tail knocks you flat, and that ends the fight – for you,” and again Alano shuddered, and so did I.
“We can’t cross,” I said, a few minutes later, as all remained quiet. “I would not attempt it for a thousand dollars.”
“Nor I – on foot. Perhaps we can do so by means of the trees. Let us climb yonder palm and investigate.”
We climbed the palm, a sloping tree covered with numerous trailing vines. Our movements disturbed countless beetles, lizards, and a dozen birds, some of the latter flying off with a whir which was startling. The top of the palm reached, we swung ourselves to its neighbor, standing directly upon the bank of the brook. In a few minutes we had reached a willow and then a cacao, and thus we crossed the stream in safety, although not without considerable exertion.
The sun was beginning to set when we reached a small village called by the natives San Lerma – a mere collection of thatched cottages belonging to some sheep-raisers. Before entering we made certain there were no soldiers around.
Our coming brought half a dozen men, women, and children to our side. They were mainly of negro blood, and the children were but scantily clothed. They commenced to ask innumerable questions, which Alano answered as well as he could. One of the negroes had heard of Señor Guerez' plantation, and immediately volunteered to furnish us with sleeping accommodations for the night.
“Many of us have joined the noble General Garcia,” he said, in almost a whisper. “I would join too, but Teresa will not hear of it.” Teresa was his wife – a fat, grim-looking wench who ruled the household with a rod of iron. She grumbled a good deal at having to provide us with a bed, but became very pleasant when Alano slipped a small silver coin into her greasy palm.
Feeling fairly secure in our quarters, we slept soundly, and did not awaken until the sun was shining brightly. The inevitable pot of black coffee was over the fire, and the smoke of bacon
