Half-stunned and crazed by passion, Alvarez struggles to his knees and whips out a pistol. It is knocked from his grasp before his arm straightens, as half a dozen watchful Cubans pounce upon him.
“Away with them!” orders Navarro, with a sweep of his arm, and as Alvarez and Barker are hustled off in the darkness he turns to Don Carlos, who has been a silent and trembling witness of the conflict.
“In heaven’s name, my brother, what brings you on this errand? Don Manuel must be mad.”
“Ah, Emilio, do not blame Don Manuel,” gently protests Carlos, as he embraces Navarro. “The matter was urgent, a courier was required, and I myself suggested that I be that courier. To see you again I would have dared the perils of the journey, even were nothing more at stake.”
“Brave heart,” murmurs Navarro, brushing back the ringlets from his brother’s brow. “But let this be your last commission, Carlos. I would not jeopardize your life for a thousand Cubas. But come, is the news you bring me verbal or written?”
For answer Carlos places a letter in Navarro’s hands, and the latter reads it by the light of the lantern. It is brief, and as he thrusts it into his pocket Jack steps forward.
“Ah, Ashley,” cries Navarro, grasping him by the hand; “the trick was quickly done, eh? Carlos, it is to our American friend that you owe your present safety and perhaps your life. It was he who warned me of the plot for your arrest.”
“Spare me any praise,” protests Ashley, as Carlos is about to express his gratitude. “By good fortune I became acquainted with Alvarez’ design, and further luck cast me in your brother’s way.”
“After you rode for miles into the mountains in search of me,” interposes Navarro.
“Yes,” laughs Jack, “for I had a suspicion that, single-handed, I should not have been a match for the Spanish captain and his men. Now, will you tell me, my friend, how you circumvented Alvarez so cleverly?”