Barker hesitates a moment, the while studying the face before him. “Cyrus Felton’s son, or his double” he thinks. Then he takes a sudden resolution. “I am a soldier of fortune,” he laughs. “I came down here to see the country and a little fighting maybe. My name is Parker; residence, the world. What are the chances for a commission in the Spanish army?”
“Hardly good for a commission. But”—Alvarez looks Barker over shrewdly—“I should like to do you a service, and may. What do you say to becoming my orderly?”
Barker’s eyes flash. He appears to deliberate for a moment, and finally says: “I would like nothing better.”
“Good! To-morrow, then, will see you enrolled as a soldier of Spain!”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
ASHLEY TAKES THE FIELD.
The big, white moon that rolls through “heaven’s ebon vault” and pales the glow of the southern cross looks down upon two young people on the veranda of El Quinta de Quesada. They have retired to the shadows for purely healthful reasons, of course, as a baleful influence is attributed to the direct rays of the tropic moon.
“You leave Santiago to-morrow?” asks Juanita, in tones of real regret.
“At the first streak of daylight,” Ashley replies, lighting the inevitable Cuban cigar.
“And when shall we see you again?”