CHAPTER XLII.

“EL TERREDO.”

Ashley waits until he believes that Capt. Alvarez and his men have got fairly on their way toward Jibana; then he mounts Rozinante and rides back to the hotel.

Half a mile to the eastward, the landlord tells him, a trail leads off into the mountains. Ashley remembers passing it in the morning. Fortifying himself with a dinner, he sets forth.

After he strikes the mountain path, his progress is slow and painful. It is a dreary road, steep and treacherous. About him nothing but rocks, red clay, cactus and bog and a stunted growth of trees.

Ashley left the hotel in the vicinity of 1 o’clock, and by 3 he has hardly covered four miles. “If I do not secure reinforcements within the hour I must ’bout face and ride to Jibana,” he reflects. “A man could never find his way out of this howling wilderness after nightfall! Jove! It must have been a matter of urgent importance that necessitated the dispatching of Don Carlos to Jibana. Poor little chap!” he mutters, and as he thinks of young Navarro lying under the stars with a bullet through his heart, he urges Rozinante at a dangerous pace.

Another half-hour goes by. Ashley is now in the mountains, and yet no living being has he seen to break the depressive solitude. Suddenly there rings out the command:

“Alto, ahi!”

Ashley checks his horse, looks about him and discovers that he is the center of a circle of leveled muskets, the owners of which are hidden from view.

“All right, gentlemen, I’m out,” announces Jack, cheerfully, as he removes his eye-glasses and wipes the dust and moisture from them.

Forth from the bushes steps a gaunt Cuban, in a tattered uniform and with feet that have long since parted association with shoes. Throwing his musket across his arm, he hurls an inquiry at Ashley.

“You’ve got me there,” states the correspondent, and smiling around the ominous fringe of musket barrels.

Finally, giving up all idea of a conversation with the dark-featured mountaineers, “El Terredo!” he cries, “El Terredo! Endonde El Terredo? I don’t know whether that’s right or not, but it’s the best I have in stock.”

The mountaineer appears to grasp the idea. He shouts something to the men in the bushes, and a dozen lusty fellows, white and black, come forth. The leader makes a sign to Ashley to go ahead, and the latter obeys.

For a mile or more the little cavalcade proceeds, when suddenly the leader of Ashley’s silent escort emits a shrill whistle. An answering signal is faintly heard, and then the march is resumed. Five minutes later Jack rides into a clearing and hears a welcome voice ring out: “Welcome, Senor Ashley!”

“Glad to see you, Navarro,” says Ashley, heartily, as he drops from his horse and grips the insurgent leader’s hand. “Is this part of your army?”

“Yes; hardy fellows, every man of them,” replies Navarro, signalling his followers to fall back. “What on earth brings you into the mountains?”

“Thought I’d drop round and return thanks for your generous gift.”

“Ah, say nothing of that. I should have been glad to have sent you a stable of horses.”

“One was enough. But this is incidental. You expect dispatches from Santiago to-night?”

“No; that is, no special ones.”

“Some are on their way, nevertheless, in the keeping of Don Carlos.”

“Don Carlos!” cries Navarro, turning pale.

“Ay; but that is not all. The errand of Don Carlos has become known at Havana and orders have been wired to Capt. Alvarez, who is now on his way from Cadoza to Jibana, if he is not already there, to intercept the courier, and secure the dispatches.”

Navarro staggers as if dealt a blow. “My God! They will shoot him like a dog!” he groans, his face white as death. “When—where is Carlos to arrive?”

“At Jibana, at 10 to-night.”

“Ho! Then all is not lost,” flashes Navarro. “By heaven! I’ll wipe Jibana and every Spaniard in it from the face of the earth!”

“Easy, my friend,” counsels Ashley, grasping the infuriated man by the arm. “If Don Carlos is to be saved, and also the dispatches—keep those in mind—you will need your wits more than a thousand men. Now, listen to me a moment. There is time enough.

“Yesterday, or the day before, or sometime within the week, a big supply train left Havana for Santiago. Information of its dispatch must have been received by Don Quesada, and, knowing your whereabouts—did he know them?”—Navarro nods—“he has sent Don Carlos to notify you, that the train may be captured. This morning Capt. Alvarez was at Cadoza. He heard it rumored that a large force of insurgents were encamped in these mountains. He wired Havana to that effect, and ten minutes later received orders to intercept Don Carlos. I learned this while at Cadoza, and realizing the danger that threatened your brother, I set off for the mountains, trusting to Providence to run across you or some of your men. On my way hither I devised a plan by which you can outwit Alvarez and later capture the ammunition train—and I do not believe in doing things by halves. But first, how far is it to Jibana?”

“About six miles, as the crow flies.”

“That means eight or ten by these awful bridal-paths, then. You have a score of men here at least. They will be more than enough. Now, I will outline my plan and we can perfect it on our way to Jibana.”

Navarro listens without interruption while Ashley talks. When the programme for the night has been sketched, Navarro’s dark eyes moisten and he seizes Jack’s hands in a grip that makes the latter wince. “Ashley, you’re a hero!” he cries.

“Nonsense,” laughs Jack.

“I can never repay the debt of gratitude I owe you.”

“Don’t try. Suppose we push along to Jibana. We can talk matters over on the way.”

“Good. We will start at once,” says Navarro, and he communicates an order to his men.

“How many men have you back in the mountains?” Ashley inquires of Navarro as they ride side by side through the desert of rock and chaparral.

“Two thousand. Accessions have been coming every day. But they are not directly under my command. My part in the revolution has been a rather peculiar one. Up to a fortnight or so ago, when I parted with you on the Santos road, my identity was as much a mystery as that of the president of the provisional republic. Unsuspected as a leading factor in the struggle for independence, I mingled with the Spanish and listened with a smile to the stories told of the prowess of the cruiser Pearl of the Antilles and her mysterious commander, El Terredo. At the time the Mercedes was sunk I did command the Pearl and with my own hand aimed the dynamite gun that sent the Spanish battleship to the bottom. But most of my time has been spent on land. I have done more planning than fighting, and while I rejoice not in a single title except that of El Terredo, in a land where titles are cheap, my authority is unlimited, my orders are implicitly obeyed, and I could ruin Cuba Libre with a single command.”

“Are you not fearful of being recognized during some of your trips into the camp of the enemy?” asked Ashley, looking at the young man with undisguised admiration.

Navarro smiles. “There will be no further exposure. When I left the quinta with you it was to take the field, not to leave it until Santiago falls. After the capture of the ammunition train, if luck favors us, I leave here for the coast,” pointing westward. “In a harbor yonder rides the Pearl of the Antilles, and when I take command of her it will be the opening of a campaign that Spain’s navy will long remember.”

“Until Santiago falls?” repeats Ashley. “You look for the capitulation of that city?”

“Within a fortnight Gen. Masso will hurl 10,000 men upon it. The troops back in these mountains will form part of an army against which 20,000 Spanish will not avail. Unless you insist upon reporting the siege for your paper amid the bursting of shells and the roar of artillery, keep away from Santiago—at Santos, for instance. The Spanish squadron is already on its way to Santiago, and when the city falls into the hands of the patriots the battleships will open fire.”

“Then I believe I will return to Santiago at once—or after our night’s work is finished. Shall we reach the edge of Jibana before nightfall?”

“Probably not, but in season for the work in hand. It will be a night that Capt. Alvarez will long remember if memory lasts beyond this world.”

“By Jove! That will never do,” exclaims Ashley. Navarro looks at him inquiringly.

“Alvarez must not be injured,” declares Jack. “I have particular reasons for keeping Alvarez alive for some time to come.”

“Rather awkward,” laughs Navarro. “I don’t see but that you will have to overlook the job to-night, and sort out your friend, for I expect it will be necessary to kill one or two of the gang.”

Ashley reflects a moment. “You should be able to identify the leader,” he says, and he adds to himself: “As for Barker, I shall have to prevent his taking part in the affair. It’s a ticklish job all round.”

“Well, your wishes shall be respected,” says Navarro. “Capt. Alvarez shall live. He is fortunate in having so influential a friend at court.”

“Some of the most worthless of men are more valuable alive than dead. I have no friendship for Alvarez, but his demise just at present would complicate certain matters in which I have a large interest.”

The moon is creeping up over a crest of the range, when, at a signal from the guide, Navarro calls a halt. After a whispered consultation, he tells Ashley that they are some little distance below the Jibana hotel and railway station.

“Two hundred rods beyond us lies the road,” he says; “and fifty yards farther is the track. We will hitch here.”

“Very good,” declares Ashley. “Here, then, we separate. It is now nearly 8 o’clock,” consulting his watch by the glow of his cigar. “Good luck, old man. The signal for my reappearance will be the old rallying cry of ‘Santiago.’”

The men exchanged a hearty handclasp. Then Ashley dismounts, and headed by the guide, leads Rozinante through the brush to the road. Here he vaults into the saddle again and canters toward the town.