Forward, March by Kirk Munroe (bts book recommendations .txt) 📖

As they advanced into the heart of the mountains, ever climbing, their road grew rougher and narrower, until finally it was a mere trail. Although they passed occasional ruins of huts, they did not see one that was inhabited or habitable. Neither did they encounter a human being until their destination was reached, though for the last mile of their progress they were constantly watched by wild-looking figures that peered at them from behind rocks or bushes. Often, after a single glance at the horsemen, these ragged scouts would dart away, scurrying through the brush with the noiseless speed of rabbits, and one able to see them would have observed that all took the same direction. It was towards a camp of Cuban refugees, snugly hidden in one of the most inaccessible recesses of the mountains, and to it they bore the news of approaching visitors.

Therefore the camp was in a state of expectancy even before the new-comers were challenged by its outpost, and as del Concha had long since been recognized, they received a cordial greeting. The wounded girl was at once taken to a commodious hut, where she could be cared for by nurses of her own sex, while a substantial breakfast, roughly cooked and of the simplest character, was made ready for the two men. It was served on the ground just outside the hut of the Cuban General commanding the camp and its few hundreds of ragged soldiers. This officer expressed great joy upon learning from Ridge that an American army was about to land in Cuba, and promised to harass any expedition sent against it from Holguin.

After breakfast, while del Concha was gone to inquire concerning his sweetheart, the General took Ridge to his private observatory, a superb palm, occupying an eminence, and towering above the surrounding forest. From its leafy crown one could look directly down on Holguin and, with a good glass, clearly discern the movements of its garrison.

While thus alone with the General our young trooper asked questions about del Concha.

"He is one of the bravest and most patriotic of Cubans," declared the other, warmly. "No one has done more than he to advance our cause."

"Has he ever been suspected of being a Spanish spy?" asked Ridge.

"Certainly not, señor. Such a question is almost an insult."

"Yet the lieutenant has good cause for his inquiry," said del Concha himself, who joined them at that moment. "Moreover, he is entitled to an explanation from me, which I will hasten to give before he shall demand it."

"It will afford me great pleasure to hear it," said Ridge, "for some of your recent actions have been, to say the least, very puzzling."

"As, for instance, when I denounced you to General Pando. Certainly you must have thought badly of me at that time. I did it, however, to save both you and myself, since shortly after you left us I learned that one of my troop had deserted for the purpose of betraying you to the Spanish General, who, he hoped and believed, would give him a liberal reward for so doing. As Pando supposes me to be one of his agents--in which capacity, by-the-way, I have been able to render valuable service to Cuba--"

"Indeed, yes," muttered the General.

"--I saw at once," continued del Concha, "that in order to save us both I must forestall the deserter and do the denouncing myself. You witnessed the result in the reception accorded the man when he appeared with his stale news, and are aware of his fate."

"No, I am not," said Ridge.

"Did you not hear the volley by which he was shot within one minute after being led from Pando's presence?"

"Was that it?" asked the young American, in an awe-stricken tone.

"Certainly; and served him exactly right, too. Also saved me the job of punishing him. After that, and after you had been removed, Pando confided to me that, as yours was a perfectly clear case, he should not bother Blanco with it, but should promptly dispose of it by having you shot at sunrise. He also honored me with a mission to Santiago, on which he desired that I should set forth immediately. I of course accepted, only with a mental resolve to take you along, and this, with Eva's help, I was in a fair way to accomplish when the dear girl received her terrible wound."

"Bless her!" exclaimed Ridge, fervently, now fully realizing for the first time all that had been done for him. "I hope, with all my heart, that her wound is not serious."

"I fear it is, though for the present she seems quite comfortable."

"And you are going to Santiago?"

"Not one step beyond this point until she is out of danger."

"But I must go," said Ridge, decidedly.

"Certainly; and I have a competent guide ready to start at any moment, and conduct you on the next stage of your journey."

While Ridge was greatly disappointed at losing the guidance and companionship of the young Cuban, in whom his confidence was now wholly restored, he could not, under the circumstances, urge him to go farther, nor did he dare longer delay his own journey. With Señorita, all his belongings, including his undelivered despatches, and the money stolen when he was captured by del Concha, had been restored to him. So he now added to his outfit a grass-woven hammock that he purchased in the refugee camp, and was then ready to set forth.

The new guide awaiting him was a coal-black negro named Dionysio, who was of such huge stature that the other Cubans seemed pygmies beside him. He was armed only with a great machete, ground to exceeding sharpness, and he disdained to ride a horse, declaring that he could, on foot, cover a greater distance in less time than any horse on the island, which Ridge was able to credit after a short experience with his ebony guide. Besides, being a big man and a very strong one, Dionysio was a silent man, as taciturn as an Indian, and never spoke except upon necessity.

When Ridge was introduced to him he was sitting in the shade of a corojo-palm, smoking a cigarette and lovingly fingering the razor-like edge of his machete.

"This is the Señor Americano whom you are to guide to Jiguani, and afterwards, if he requires it, to Santiago," said del Concha,

Dionysio looked keenly at Ridge, but uttered no word.

"He is ready to start."

The negro stood up, to signify that he was also ready.

"You will not let the Spaniards kill him," Dionysio tapped his machete significantly.

"Well, my friend, adios," said del Concha, "and may you come safely to your journey's end!"

Accepting this farewell as a signal to move, the black giant set forth at a swinging pace, and, in order not to lose sight of him, Ridge was obliged instantly to follow. In another minute, therefore, they had crossed the clearing, plunged again into the forest, and the refugee camp was as lost to their view as though it had not existed.

The silent guide bore on his shoulders a burden of yams rolled in a hammock, but it in no way interfered with the freedom of his movements. For miles he maintained, up hill and down, the same speed with which he had set out, and which so taxed Señorita's endurance that Ridge was finally forced to call a halt. The heat of the sun was by this time intense, while the forest steamed from a succession of brief but drenching showers that had swept over it since they started.

As Dionysio comprehended what was wanted he proceeded, without a word, to construct a small bower of branches and palm leaves, beneath which he slung Ridge's hammock. The young trooper's eyes were so leaden with sleep that he had no sooner slipped into this than he was lost in a dreamless slumber.

When he next awoke, greatly refreshed by his long nap, the great heat of the day was past, and the shadows of coming evening produced a pleasant coolness. For a few minutes Ridge lay in a state of lazy content, gazing with languid interest at his surroundings. The sky, so far as he could see it, was cloudless, the crisp leaves of a tall palm close at hand rustled in a light breeze like the patter of rain, gayly plumaged paroquets and nonpareils flitted across his line of vision, and the air was filled with the pleasant odor of burning wood, mingled with the fragrance of a cigarette that Dionysio smoked while squatted on his heels before a small fire. A little beyond, Señorita, tethered to a tree, cropped at a small patch of coarse grass, and--but Ridge could not credit his senses until he had rubbed his eyes vigorously to make sure that they were doing their duty--another horse was sharing the grass-plot with her. As he assured himself of this, Ridge sat up, and was about to demand an explanation of the negro, when his question was checked by another sight still more amazing.

A human figure staring fixedly at him with glaring eyes was rigidly bound to the trunk of a near-by tree. It was that of a young man in the uniform of a Spanish officer. His face was covered with blood, upon which a swarm of flies had settled, and he was so securely fastened that he could not move hand nor foot. He was also gagged so that he could make no sound beyond an inarticulate groan, which he uttered when he saw that Ridge was awake and looking at him.

With an exclamation of dismay the young American leaped from his hammock. At the same moment Dionysio rose to his feet with a broad grin on his black face, and spoke for the first time since Ridge had made his acquaintance.

"Him Holguin Spaniard," he said, pointing to the prisoner. "Me catch him. Keep him for Americano to kill. Now you shoot him."