“For me?” he inquires in surprise, as he goes out and looks upon a magnificent iron-gray beast fit for a king on coronation day.
For Senor Ashley, he is assured. It was brought during the afternoon. Jack looks the acquisition over, and then, turning to the trappings which hang near by, he discovers a bit of paper attached to the saddle. On it is written the single word “Navarro” and the mystery is cleared.
“By Jove! This is generous,” he says. “But I’m blessed if I know where to send my thanks.”
Dawn finds Ashley in the saddle and he makes quite a brave appearance as he rides away. He is clad in a suit of dark corduroy, with long riding boots and white-cloth helmet and as he looks his costume over complacently he remarks: “If my boots were a bit newer and shinier I’d make a good running mate for the war correspondent in ‘Michael Strogoff.’ It is a manifest libel to christen this horse Rozinante,” patting affectionately the neck of his sleek charger, “but as he is a Spanish steed he must suffer from recollections of Cervantes. So Rozinante it is.”
Before the sun has become too aggressive to admit of riding in comfort Ashley has covered some twenty miles and has passed through two villages, wretched little settlements that have ever existed in their present squalor for generation upon generation. At the second of these he stops for breakfast. The meal is no worse than he expected, and after he has finished his coffee he hunts up a shady spot on the outskirts of the town, and, hitching his horse, he smokes and dozes until the late afternoon breezes from the gulf suggest a resumption of his journey. At night he tarries at the house of a farmer. They call them “farmers” in Cuba. They burn charcoal, raise a few vegetables and peddle milk and eggs.
The next day is very much like the first, except that Ashley introduces the variation of sleeping all the afternoon and riding the greater part of the night. And when weariness finally overtakes him he camps on the edge of a vast canefield.
The third day is equally monotonous. He begins to think that his expedition is to be utterly devoid of adventure. He has seen no signs of either insurgents or Spanish soldiery, nor have the natives along his route. As evening approaches he rides into the decent-sized town of Jibana, on the line of the railway between Havana and Santiago.
Somewhat to his surprise he learns that the only hotel in the place is kept by an American. Landlord Carter proves to be a decent sort of chap and his hostelry is clean and inviting. After a really good supper Ashley turns in early; he is thoroughly tired, having ridden farther than on either of the previous days.
He wakes moderately early and has a brief ante-breakfast chat with Landlord Carter.
“Have I heard of any fighting around here?” repeats Carter, in response to Ashley’s inquiry. “No, but I expect to see some most any day. There is a report that a large number of insurgents are encamped in the mountains within a score of miles of Jibana and the natives hereabout are becoming restless. A rebel victory or two would send the whole of this part of the province into the insurgent fold. By the way, a party of three Americans arrived last evening after you had gone to bed.”