Chapter 18

ALONE.

“What is it?” cried Alano, as he scrambled to his feet.

“I don’t know!” I yelled. “Look! look!”

As I spoke I pulled out my pistol. By this time Jorge was also aroused.

“Que ha dicho V.? [What did you say?]” he demanded, leaping up and catching at his machete.

“An animal—a bear, or something!” I went on. “There he is!”

I raised my pistol, and at the same time our guide looked as I had directed. I was about to pull the trigger of my weapon when he stopped me.

“No shoot! Puerco!” he cried, and gave a laugh. Leaping forward, he made after the animal, which turned to run away. But Jorge was too quick for him. Presently there was a grunt and a prolonged squeal, and then I understood what my wild beast was—nothing but a wild pig! In a couple of minutes Jorge came back to camp dragging the tough little porker by the hind legs. He had killed the animal in true butcher’s style.

“We have pork to-morrow,” he grinned, for Cuban negroes are as fond of pig meat as their Northern brothers. Taking a short rope from one of his pockets, he attached it to the pig’s hind legs and hung the body up on a convenient tree branch.

The incident had upset my nerves, and for the balance of the night I slept only by fits and starts, and I was glad when dawn came and the rising sun began to gild the tops of the surrounding hills. The sight was a beautiful one, and I gazed at it for some time, while Jorge prepared some pork chops over a tiny fire he had kindled.

“We carry what pork we can,” he said. “No use to leave it behind. Father Anuncio very glad to get pig, so sweet!” and once again Jorge grinned. After breakfast the guide cut up the balance of the animal, wrapped the parts in wet palm leaves, and gave us each our share to carry.

Our involuntary bath had done me good, and I stepped out feeling brighter and better than I had for several days. I was becoming acclimated, and I was glad of it, for had I been taken down with a fever I do not know what I would have done.

Alano was as eager as myself to reach the old convent on the river, and we kept close upon Jorge’s heels as our guide strode off down the mountain side toward a forest of sapodillas and plantains.

“I trust we find everybody safe and sound,” I remarked. “The fact that your father thought it best to conduct your mother and sisters to the convent would seem to indicate he was disturbed about their safety.”

“I am hoping he did it only to be clear to join the rebel army,” replied Alano. “I hope both your father and mine are in the ranks, and that we are allowed to join too.”

I did not wish to discourage my Cuban chum on this point, yet I had my own ideas on the subject. I was not anxious to join any army, at least not while both sides to the controversy were conducting the contest in this guerrilla-like fashion. I was quite sure, from what I had heard from various sources, that up to that date no regular battle had been fought in the eastern portion of Cuba, although the western branch of the rebel army, under General Gomez, was doing much regular and effective work.

The reasons for this were twofold. In the first place, General Gomez' forces were composed mainly of white men, while a large portion of the soldiers under General Garcia were black. Nearly all of the Americans who came to Cuba to fight for Cuban liberty, came by way of Havana or Jibacoa and joined General Gomez, and these fellows brought with them a large stock of arms and ammunition. It was said that there were three armed men in the West to every man who had even a pistol in the East. Many of the negroes were armed only with their machetes, which they tied to their wrists with rawhides, that they might not lose this sole weapon while on the march or in a skirmish. To shoot off a cartridge in a pistol without doing some effective work with it was considered under General Garcia and his brother officers almost a crime.

The guerrilla warfare in the mountains I felt could be kept up for a long time, perhaps indefinitely. The Spanish troops had sought to surround General Garcia a dozen times, only to discover, when too late, that he and his men had left the vicinity. The Cuban forces moved almost always at night, and often detachments of soldiers were sent off on swift horses to build false campfires dozens of miles away from the real resting-place of the army.

In the valley we crossed through a large coffee plantation. In the center was a low, square house with several outbuildings. The house was closed tightly, and so were the other buildings, yet as we drew close I fancied I heard sounds from within.

I notified Jorge, and a halt ensued. Hardly had we stopped than the door of the house flew open and out rushed half a dozen well-dressed Spanish soldiers.

“Halte!” came the command, but instead of halting we turned and fled—I in one direction, and Alano and our guide in another. Bang! bang! went a couple of guns, and I heard the bullets clipping through the trees. Surprised and alarmed, I kept on, past a field of coffee and into a belt of palms. Several of the soldiers came after me, and I heard them shouting to me to stop and promising all sorts of punishment if I did not heed their command.

But I did not intend to stop, and only ran the faster, past the palms and into a mass of brushwood growing to a height of ten or twelve feet. At first the bushes were several feet apart, and I went on with ease; but soon the growth was more dense, and numerous vines barred the way; and at last I sank down in a hollow, unable to go another step, and thoroughly winded.

I remained in the hollow at least half an hour, trying to get back my breath and listening intently to the movements of my pursuers. The soldiers passed within fifty feet of me, but that was as close as they got, and presently they went off; and that was the last I heard of them.

In the excitement of the chase I had dropped my pig meat, and now I discovered that nearly all of my other traps were gone, including my pistol, which had left my hand during a nasty trip-up over a hidden tree root. The trip-up had given me a big bump on the temple and nearly knocked me unconscious.

Crawling around, I found a pool of water, in which I bathed my forehead, and then I set about finding out what had become of Alano and Jorge. I moved with extreme caution, having no desire to be surprised by the enemy, who might be lying in ambush for me.

Moving onward in the brush I soon discovered was no light undertaking, and it was fully an hour before I found my way out to where the vines grew less profusely. The spot where I emerged was not the same as that at which I had entered the undergrowth, and on gazing around I was dismayed to find that the whole topography of the country looked different.

I was lost!

The thought rushed upon me all in an instant, and I half groaned aloud as I realized my situation. I must be all of a mile from the plantation, and where my friends were I had not the remotest idea.

The sun beat down hotly in the valley, and it was not long before I was both dry and hungry. I searched around for another pool, but could not find any, and had to content myself with the taste of a wild orange, far from palatable.

Noon came and went and found me still tramping around the valley looking for Alano and Jorge. In my passage through the bushes my already ragged clothing was torn still more, until I felt certain that any half-decent scarecrow could discount me greatly in appearance.

At four o’clock, utterly worn out, I threw myself on the ground in a little clearing and gave myself up to my bitter reflections. I felt that I was hopelessly lost. Moreover, I was tremendously hungry, with nothing in sight with which to satisfy the cravings of my appetite. Night, too, was approaching. What was to be done?