CHAPTER XLIII.

THE FIGHT IN THE MOONLIGHT.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” declares Landlord Carter, answering Ashley’s halloa without the Hotel Americano at Jibana.

“I am a little ahead on my own calculations,” is the reply. “Are the Americans still here?”

“No, sir; left this afternoon for Santiago.”

“Full house, though, I judge,” motioning toward the windows of the reading-room, from which emanate snatches of song and the clink of glasses.

“Yes; gang of Spanish troopers. Noisy devils. Stop overnight, I suppose?”

“Sure. I want some supper in a hurry and a room at your leisure.”

The landlord shouts to the hostler, who leads Rozinante away to his well-earned grain, and Ashley follows Carter into the hotel, with the remark: “I do not care to have those chaps in there see me, or know who I am.”

“All right, sir. This way. The troopers are all in the drinking-room and they haven’t moved out of their chairs for an hour.”

Supper over, Ashley is shown to his room and the landlord is about to make his exit with a cheerful “good-night,” when Ashley remarks:

“By the way, have you an old coat and hat of any description?”

Carter scratches his head reflectively. “I have an old Grand Army uniform that I brought with me from the states. I was a member of the 13th Massachusetts volunteers, and after the war joined the Chelsea post, when—”

“That will do very nicely,” interrupts Ashley. “I want to borrow the uniform for a few hours.”

“All right, sir. I’ll get it out in the morning.”

“But I want it to-night.”

“Very good, sir. I’ve been too long in this business to ask questions. Used to run a small hotel in Boston,” grins Carter, as he vanishes. He returns shortly with the clothes, and Ashley, after a glance, pronounces them satisfactory.

“One more request, Carter. You noticed, perhaps, among your guests a rather short, thick-set party, with a dark, closely cropped mustache.”

“Smokes a short, black pipe and looks like an Englishman?”

“That’s the chap. Send him up, but don’t attract the attention of his companions.”

Carter nods and disappears, and a few minutes later the good-natured countenance of John Barker is thrust into the room.

“Buenas tardes, Senor Parker,” is Ashley’s salutation. “Come in and shut the door.”

“Where the devil did you come from?” demands the detective, dropping into a chair.

“Up the road a piece. I got tired of journeying through the desert, and concluded to take the back track. Fill up your pipe and make yourself sociable.”

“Can’t stop. It is nearly 9 o’clock and we start at that hour.”

“Oh, yes; on the business you were telling me of this noon. You haven’t changed your plans, then?”

“No; there was no occasion to.”

“Well, it is not absolutely essential that you should accompany Alvarez, is it?”

“That was his wish. With the exception of Alvarez and myself and the four men who were to supplement our little party, the command knows nothing definite of the evening’s work. Alvarez doesn’t fraternize much with his followers.”

“Why not send a man in your stead?”

“I am afraid it is too late to make any changes in the plans. Most of the men below are half-shot now.”

Ashley takes a turn about the room and drops his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Barker,” he says, “it was only this noon that you requested me to be serious for at least ten minutes on a stretch. I never was more serious than I am now, when I say to you, don’t accompany Alvarez on his errand to-night.”

“What the deuce are you so interested in the affair for all at once?” queries the detective.

“Well, remain here, and I will enlighten you.”

At this moment the impatient shout, “Ho, Parker!” floats up from the hotel yard, and with the remark, “I’m off; see you later, Jack,” Barker bounds from the room.

“Hang it! I ought to have told him at the outset how the land lay,” mutters Ashley. “Now, I suppose I shall have to direct my undivided efforts to preventing his slaughter at the hands of Navarro’s men.”

Ashley slips off his coat and gets into the faded uniform of the landlord, dons the Grand Army hat and pulls it down over his eyes; examines his revolvers to make certain that they are in proper working order, and then, blowing out his lamp, seats himself by the open window, where he can command a view of the road.

Shortly after 9 o’clock he sees six forms cross the band of moonlight into the shadows beyond. He waits ten minutes and then glides softly down the stairway and out into the night.

Alvarez and his men leave the hotel afoot and instead of taking the railroad track, proceed down the highway. Alvarez rode over the ground during the afternoon and selected a point about a mile and a half below the village as the place for holding up the train. Here the road crosses the railway and beyond is a long stretch of straight track.

The six proceed silently to the appointed spot, and then, there being no further occasion for secrecy, they fall to smoking and chatting. The train is due at Jibana at 10 and there is yet half an hour to wait.

Twenty minutes of it go by, when Alvarez discovers that his party is short two men.

“Ho! Sancho! Francisco!” he calls, and repeats the shout, there being no response. “Whither went they, Parker?” he asks, turning to his orderly.

“They were here a few minutes ago, captain. I last noticed them strolling toward the road.”

Alvarez utters an impatient growl. “Search them out, Pedro, and thou, too, Juan. The train will be here in five minutes.”

As the two troopers addressed take themselves off in quest of their companions Alvarez lights a lantern and hands it to the orderly.

“By the way, what disposition is to be made of the prisoner?” asks the latter.

“We shall have to shoot him, I expect,” is the cool response. “We can’t very well take him with us, and we certainly cannot turn him loose.”

“It seems a rather cold-blooded piece of business. It savors of murder.”

At the word Alvarez shivers slightly. The nights in Cuba are damp and chilly.

“Ten o’clock,” he mutters, holding his watch to the lantern. “Where the devil are my men? We shall likely have to go in search of the second pair. Ha, the train!”

The whistle of the Havana express is heard in the distance and the men leap to their feet.

“Down the track with you,” orders Alvarez. “As for you,” turning to four forms that are approaching from the shadows of the highway, “el diablo! What sort of men have I in my command?”

The troopers make no reply to the angry query of their leader.

The orderly swings his lantern and an answering blast comes from the train, which draws up upon the crossing.

“I have an order for the arrest of one of your passengers,” Alvarez informs the conductor. “Watch the train and see that no one leaves it,” he tells the four troopers, and, followed by the orderly, he boards the first coach.

Within this is the object of their search. Don Carlos Navarro is reclining wearily in a seat about midway of the car. He starts when the soldiers enter and the color flows from his cheeks when they stop before him.

Alvarez consults a paper, and, glancing from it to young Navarro, remarks: “The very chap. I have a warrant for your arrest, sir.” Then to the orderly: “Remove the prisoner, Parker.”

“By thunder, he’s fainted,” mutters the orderly, as he bears the limp form from the car.

“Search him,” commands Alvarez, signaling to the conductor to go ahead.

As the train rumbles away the orderly goes through the coat pockets of the prisoner, but without finding any sign of papers, rebel dispatches or otherwise. Then he tears open the unconscious youth’s shirt, and the next instant utters an exclamation of astonishment.

“By heaven! It’s a woman!” he mutters, as he deposits his burden tenderly on the ground and straightens up to acquaint his chief of the surprising bit of intelligence.

* * * * *

The moon swings high above the range when Ashley leaves the hotel and proceeds down the railroad track, the route he naturally supposes Alvarez and his party have taken.

As the newspaper man, revolver in hand, moves slowly and cautiously along, his eyes on the alert for a glimpse of Alvarez’ party, the danger of his situation suddenly occurs to him. If the Spaniards have already stationed themselves at some point along the rail he is likely to stumble upon them at any minute.

At last he sights the party of troopers. Then he remembers that the road is close by, and stealing through the brush, he proceeds softly along the highway until the hum of conversation greets his ear.

He crawls at a safe distance to a position beyond the group, not twenty feet distant from the spot where Alvarez and Barker are seated.

The brush is dense and he has nothing now to do but keep perfectly still. He has seen or heard nothing of El Torredo or his men, but he knows that secreted somewhere in the waste of chaparral around him are stout hearts and strong arms waiting for the cry of “Santiago!” to rouse them to swift action.

He watches Alvarez light the lantern, and, as the rays fall upon the orderly’s features Ashley thinks: “If I could only get within whispering distance of the old man I’d give him a quiet tip to make himself exceeding scarce.”

But at this instant the whistle of the express is heard and Ashley raises himself on his elbows. He sees Barker start down the track, and his impulse is to follow. But to do so he will have to cross a broad belt of moonlit open, and at this moment the four troopers come up.

The train comes to a standstill, Don Carlos is removed, the cars rumble away, and Ashley notes with satisfaction that the search for the papers is being conducted by the orderly. “He will not be harmed should Navarro’s men open fire, if he keeps close to Carlos,” he thinks.

But where is Navarro? The situation is becoming strained for the young man in the Grand Army uniform.

Jack is watching Barker. He hears him utter an ejaculation of astonishment as he lays the unconscious form of Carlos upon the ground. And then he hears a hoarse bellow of rage and sees one of Alvarez’ troopers whip out his sword and spring upon the orderly.

Less than a dozen feet separate Ashley and Barker. With a cry of warning, Jack dashes forward and catches the descending arm just in time to avert the certain destruction of the detective, who is wholly off his guard. As it is, the edge of the falling blade catches Barker across the forehead, half-stunning him and cutting a gash that means a scar to recall this night in years to come. At the same instant Ashley recognizes El Terredo in the wielder of the sword, and he whispers, “Easy, Navarro,” in time to check a slash at his own head.

Meanwhile the remaining three troopers have hurled themselves upon Alvarez and Barker. It all occurs in a flash and before Ashley recovers from his surprise at the unexpected turn of events a shrill whistle from Navarro has summoned nearly a score more of men from the surrounding shadows.

Navarro raises Don Carlos in his arms and the youth, who has recovered consciousness, clasps his arms about his brother’s neck and bursts into tears of joy.

“There, be a man,” soothes the latter. “Remain here a few minutes while I look after your Spanish friends.”

Navarro picks up the lantern and flashes its rays into Alvarez’ face.

“What’s this?” he cries. “By heaven, Captain Alvarez, I think we have met before.”

As the two men confront each other in the moonlight, there is no need of the lantern for each to see the other’s countenance.

An exclamation of surprise and rage escapes Alvarez’ lips, and he struggles in the grasp of the two men who pinion his arms.

“Curse you!” he grits, in a voice choked with passion; “I’d give half my life for five minutes of fair play now!”

“Fair play?” sneers Navarro. “You do not know the meaning of the phrase. You are a thief, a blackguard, and a traitor!”

Alvarez wrenches free by a mighty effort and with a fearful oath hurls himself upon Navarro.