THE ESCAPE  - VILLAMONTE AGAIN BEATEN.

As General Serano stepped ever the threshold of the jail, O’Connor slipped the heavy bolts and turned the big key in the lock; then he placed the key in his pocket.

“Who are you, and where is the captain of the guard?” asked Serano, starting back in surprise when he saw O’Connor.

“The captain is engaged at present,” said O’Connor, bowing and smiling impudently; “what can I do for your excellency?”

“Take me at once to the American prisoners. I have decided to revoke the two days’ reprieve. Their sentence shall be executed in the morning unless they choose to bend their stubborn spirits and tell me for whom they are acting. They are not alone in this thing. Even now their friends may be gathering and threatening our outposts.”

“That is quite true, your excellency; it certainly is wise to take every precaution. Your visit was very well timed, as a few minutes later you might have found the prisoners out. They were just starting for a little airing. The prison is very close, don’t you think?”

Serano looked puzzled, and O’Connor said, in English:

“Step forward, boys, and say ‘How-de’ to his excellency.”

Harry and Bert came from behind the men, and stopping in front of the general, saluted him gravely.

“What does this mean?” demanded Serano, looking from the boys to O’Connor, as a suspicion that all was not right flashed into his mind. “Where is the captain of the guard? I insist that he shall report to me at once. And who are you, sir, who usurps the authority of the commandant here?”

“I am Captain Dynamite, at your service, your excellency,” said O’Connor, making an elaborate bow and doffing his sombrero so that his features were revealed to the now thoroughly frightened general.

Serano leaped back and for a moment seemed dazed. Then his eyes fell on the eight soldiers standing back of the boys. His waning courage returned, and drawing himself up, he pointed his finger at O’Connor as he addressed the men.

“There is a price on that man’s head. Seize him and see to it that he does not escape.”

Not a man stirred. O’Connor, who had rolled a cigarette, turned to Serano.

“May I trouble you for a light, general. There is no reason why we should not talk this thing over calmly.”

“Dogs,” continued the general, stamping his foot, “why do you not obey me? Seize that man. He is a desperate outlaw.”

Some of the men jeered and others took a threatening step or two in the direction of the general, who jumped back into a corner of the corridor.

“What plot is this?” he gasped.

“Those are my men, general,” said O’Connor calmly. “I should advise you not to be so violent. They do not like your language, you see. May I trouble you for that light?”

Serano drew out his match box and held it at arms length, lest O’Connor come too near him.

“Have no fear, sir,” said O’Connor, who saw his perturbation, “No harm will come to you if you are wise enough to follow my instructions. You see, you are helpless. We hold the jail and no one will discover the plot until the watch is changed at midnight. Your guards are bound and gagged, and enjoying a siesta with your spy, Villamonte, in there.” “Villamonte, too,” exclaimed Serano, in surprise.

“Yes; he was kind enough to secure for me the entree to your jail, a favor any one in town would have been eager to grant, I doubt not, but Monte was the first to present himself. Perhaps you would like to see him. You will find him in there with the others.”

General Serano walked to the door of the officers’ room and looked in. He started back with an expression of anger.

“This is an outrage on her majesty’s soldiers for which you shall pay dearly, sir.”

“Let’s not talk about pay between gentlemen, General Serano. I think you will admit that if it came to a settlement I have rather the best of it just now, and if I were so inclined, I could remove one of Cuba’s most implacable enemies with one stroke of a machete. But I am not here for that purpose. There are others who will undoubtedly attend to that later. Now, all that I require of you is that you sit down at that table and write me a pass that will take me and my friends through your lines.”

“Never, sir. I will call the outside guard,” and the general made a leap for the door.

“The night is warm, general. Don’t over-exert yourself. The door is locked and the key is in my pocket, and besides, if I should let you out you would only fall into the hands of more of my men. Your outside guard is also bound and gagged, and reclining against the wall of the jail in the shadow. The sentinels you saw on patrol when you approached the jail are my men. You see, there is no escape.”

“But the uniforms they are Spain’s.”

“Yes, they belonged to unfortunate men who fell fighting for your cause. We Cubans have quite a stock of them on hand. I think you said you would write that pass.”

“No, sir, never,” roared the general, with a rattling Spanish oath.

“Very well, then I am sure you will pardon a few liberties.”

O’Connor turned to the waiting men and said: “Remove the general’s uniform.”

“What is the meaning of this new outrage?” gasped Serano, backing into his corner again as O’Connor’s men started to execute his order.

“Your uniform will serve as a passport if you refuse to write the pass,” said O’Connor laughing.

“I’ll write the pass,” said the general quickly, and O’Connor motioned back his men. “My uniform shall never be so disgraced.”

“Suit yourself, general uniform or pass it’s all the same to me. There is pen and ink.”

Serano sat down and with ill grace wrote something on a piece of paper which he handed to O’Connor. The latter read it and handed it back, with a shake of his head.

“You will have to try again, general,” he said. “Now write as I dictate.”

“Never, sir.”

“Your nevers come trippingly on the tongue, general. Boys, the general’s uniform, please.”

“No, no, I’ll write it.”

“Very well, but please to remember that I have no time for elocutionary exercises. One more never and off comes that uniform. I’ll give you just three minutes to write this: ’Pass Captain O’Connor and his party through all Spanish lines and outposts.’ That’s right; now sign it.”

Reluctantly Serano affixed his signature.

“Thank you,” said O’Connor, with mock respect, as he took the paper. “Now there is just one more little favor that I feel sure you will be pleased to grant me, and that is to step upstairs with my men and see how you like the room the American boys have just vacated. You will find it quite comfortable. Our accommodations are a little overtaxed just now. Don’t forget to leave your key at the office when you go out, and don’t blow out the gas. Now boys, show the new guest to his room.”

O’Connor laughed until he was forced to hold his sides as his men, delighted with their task, roughly hustled the astonished and fuming officer along the corridor and up the steps. They heard an iron door slam and the men returned and saluted with grinning faces.

“Always find it a good thing to let your men have a little enjoyment mixed in with their work. Come on now, let’s say good-bye to Monte and go. It only lacks an hour of midnight and when the watch changes it will not be long before our little game is discovered.”

As he spoke, O’Connor walked to the door of the officer’s room and looked in, followed by the boys.

“Good-bye, Mr. Interpreter,” said Harry, “what are the quotations on glory to-night?”

Villamonte wagged the ends of his waxed mustache in an effort to speak. O’Connor laughed and turning to the door, unlocked it, and slipping back the bolts, gave a low whistle, like the one the boys had heard from their cell window. In a moment the answer came.

“Come on,” said O’Connor, “the coast is clear.”

They passed silently out into the night. The eight men joined their comrades and the next moment, one by one, they darted across the streak of moonlight and disappeared in the deep shadow of the building at the corner of the square. O’Connor stopped and looked around to see if they had been observed, but the streets were deserted.

“Aren’t you afraid that General Serano will yell through the window and give an alarm?” asked Harry, looking up to the bars of the cell they had so recently occupied.

“My men never leave a prisoner so that he can yell,” said O’Connor, chuckling. “We have about an hour’s start, and if we make the best of that we should be well out of the woods before the escape is discovered.”

O’Connor walked rapidly and they soon reached the outskirts of the little straggling town without meeting anyone to question them. Now and then Harry saw dark forms ahead gliding along in the shadows of the low buildings or darting swiftly across patches of moonlight, and he knew O’Connor’s men were within call. O’Connor, himself, walked openly, with a boy on each side of him. In half an hour they had left the last of the huts of the reconcentrados behind them and struck boldly out into the open country, the twelve men, at a command from O’Connor, falling into marching order behind him.

In the dim distance lay their haven of safety: the dark, wooded foothills of the mountain that towered in black, ragged outlines before them, and the low-lying jungle at its base, within whose shelter O’Connor knew nearly a thousand determined men lay, only waiting word from him that his mission had failed, to move like a whirlwind on the unsuspecting outposts entrenched between them and the town.

“We must be getting close to their lines,” said O’Connor, looking at his watch. Then he turned quickly and put his hand to his ear in a listening attitude. At first the boys could not distinguish the sound that his quick ear had caught, and then indistinctly a faint, hollow clatter came over the plain from behind them. They strained their eyes but could see nothing that might cause it.

“It’s a horse galloping hard,” said O’Connor, and his mouth set into that straight line that the boys knew so well. “Lie down.”

O’Connor set the example and dropped on his stomach, with his ear to the ground. After a moment he raised his head slightly, and said:

“I think there is only one, but it will be safer to get under cover. Crawl to those bushes and lie low.”

They all wriggled along the ground until they were partially concealed from view by one of the clumps of low trees and shrubs that dotted the plain.

“Do you think they have discovered our escape?” asked Bert.

“Can’t tell yet,” answered O’Connor, who was standing up behind a tree, trying to catch a glimpse of the rider whose approach was heralded by the vigorous pounding of his horse’s hoofs. “I am satisfied that there is but one horse and it hardly seems likely that one man would set out in pursuit of a dozen, nor can I think it is a courier riding so hard at this time of night.”

The clatter of hoofs now became distinct, and away in the distance they could see a speck that grew larger each minute, until it took the form of a horse and rider. The course he was taking would bring him within an eighth of a mile of the party. As he came nearer O’Connor strained his eyes to make out the rider. The moon was getting low, but there was still light enough on the plain to make it possible to distinguish faces at some distance.

On came the horse, and the watchers could see that his rider was urging him with voice and spur. Nearer and nearer they came until the foam flecks shone white in the moonlight.

“By thunder,” said O’Connor, suddenly; “it’s the old villain, Monte. How did he get out?”

“Who is it?” asked Harry, eagerly.

“Villamonte, the interpreter.”

“Then the escape has been discovered.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“But what is he doing out here alone?”

There was a moment’s silence while O’Connor watched the panting horse come tearing on. Now he was almost abreast of the clump of trees, and even the boys, with their untrained eyes, could make out their persistent enemy, Villamonte.

“He’s riding for the outpost to revoke this pass,” said O’Connor, slowly tapping the pocket that contained the paper. “They think that is the best means of trapping us.”

“It’s all up with us then, if he gets there first,” said Bert, “and we have no horses to stop him.”

“No, but we have something just as good,” said O’Connor, turning quickly to the man behind him; “let me have your Mauser, Pedro.”

He took the rifle and stepped out into the open. Dropping on his knee, he raised the weapon to his shoulder and seemingly without aiming at the flying mark, fired. The boys shrank back involuntarily. Bloodshed, no matter how necessary, was revolting. Still, they could not help watching to see the result of O’Connor’s shot. The horse pitched forward and rolled over on his side, pinning his rider beneath him.

“Shoot the horse if he is not already dead, and bring in the man,” said O’Connor, coolly handing the rifle back. Two men started on a dog trot for the fallen horse and rider.

“Is is he dead?” asked Harry, hesitatingly.

“The horse or the man?”

“The man.”

“No, there is nothing the matter with Monte more than a broken arm perhaps. I shot at the horse. I am sorry I would almost rather have shot the man. But it had to be done.”