This was the fact. Hal’s little command now had eighteen horses in all.
As soon as these had been corralled, the field was gone over for every weapon and cartridge that could be found.
Fifteen minutes were thus consumed.
At last Hal had time to think of the pacifico who had been killed.
He was dead beyond a doubt.
“My brother,” huskily murmured another of the pacificos.
“He died nobly, in a good cause,” said Hal, soothingly.
“He died for Cuba!” cried the dead man’s brother, throwing back his head proudly. “I shall pray to the Almighty that I may die in the same splendid way.”
Hal was ready to proceed, now, yet before the start could be made there was one sad duty to perform—the saddest that belongs to war.
A shallow trench was dug, and in this the man who had been slain was laid.