A ball from a cavalryman’s revolver sent one of the pacificos staggering back—dead.
Hal immediately avenged by killing the trooper.
Now one of the enemy threw down his sabre and revolver, crying for quarter.
“Spare his life, then,” shouted Hal, running forward.
That command acted like magic. Not another shot was fired, for not one of the eight surviving Spaniards lost a second in surrendering.
This they followed up by dismounting and submitting to being tied.
Ramirez, with blood running from a wound in his left shoulder, superintended the work of tying.
There were eight of the prisoners. As soon as bound, they were ordered to remount, and were next lashed to their saddles.
“The dogs!” vented Juan, gnashing his teeth as he looked the troopers over. “Of course they surrender, for the Cubans treat their prisoners of war kindly, and it is easier to surrender than to be shot. Besides, these fellows know that the Cubans cannot be bothered long with prisoners and that they will be set free.”
“This is horse fair day for us,” laughed Hal. “Besides the horses which the Spaniards ride, there are four more below which appear to be uninjured.”