we may meet them – before we know it,” I said, with a shake of my head.
Scarcely had I uttered the words than the entrance to our resting-place was darkened by two burly forms, and we found the muzzles of two carbines thrust close to our faces.
“Who are you?” came in Spanish. “Put up your hands!”
“Don’t shoot!” cried Alano in alarm.
“Come out of that!”
“It’s raining too hard, and we have our coats off, as you see. Won’t you come in?”
At this the two men, bronzed and by no means bad-looking fellows, laughed. “Only boys!” murmured one, and the carbines were lowered and they entered the cave.
A long and rapid conversation with Alano, which I could but imperfectly understand, followed. They asked who we were, where we were going, how we had managed to slip out of Santiago, if we were armed, if we carried messages, if we had the countersign, how we had reached the cave, and a dozen other questions. Both roared loudly when Alano said he thought they were rebels.
“And so we are,” said the one who appeared to be the leader. “And we are proud of it. Have you any objections to make?”
“No,” we both answered in a breath, that being both English and Spanish, and I understanding enough of the question to be anxious to set myself right with them.
“I think our fathers have become rebels,” Alano answered. “At least, we were told so.”
“Good!” said the leader. “Then we have nothing to fear from two such brave lads as you appear to be. And now what do you propose to do – encamp here for the night?”
“Unless you can supply us with better accommodations,” rejoined my chum.
“We can supply you with nothing. We have nothing but what is on us,” laughed the second rebel.
Both told us later that they were on special picket duty in that neighborhood. They had been duly enlisted under General Garcia, but were not in uniform, each wearing only a wet and muddy linen suit, thick boots, and a plain braided palm hat. Around his waist each had strapped a leather belt, and in this stuck a machete – a long, sharp, and exceedingly cruel-looking knife. Over the shoulder was another strap, fastened to a canvas bag containing ammunition and other articles of their outfit.
These specimens of the rebels were hardly what I had expected to see, yet they were so earnest in their manner I could not help but admire them. One of them had brought down a couple of birds, and these were cooked over our fire and divided among all hands, together with the few things we had to offer. After the meal each soldier placed a big bite of tobacco in his mouth, lit a cigarette, and proceeded to make himself comfortable.
“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!
CHAPTER VII.
FOOLING THE 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
