“Then any Cuban officer will do, for I know you to be Cubans. Send word to your commander, please, that five recruits wait to offer themselves.”
“Major Alvaredo is here,” replied a grave voice.
Through a screen of leaves came a short, wiry-looking man of middle age, a bronzed, scarred veteran who, despite his ragged attire, looked every inch the trooper.
One hand rested on the naked machete that he wore dangling at his side; the other hand touched lightly against a revolver.
“You are recruits?” he asked, keenly surveying the five, then gazing with intense pleasure upon the horses, weapons and prisoners they brought him. “Judging from appearances, you will be valuable recruits. Where do you come from?”
Major Alvaredo listened with an interest that soon changed to amazement as he heard of the doings of the morning.
By the time that the narration was over, he grasped our hero cordially by the hand.
“You are ten times welcome, senor,” he cried. “You want to see service against Spain? Carramba! you shall see it. And if I mistake not, senor Americano, my general, Calixta Garcia, will receive you as something more than a private soldier. You have won a commission, if ever man did in our armies.”
“If there is a commission going a-begging,” smiled Hal, “it belongs to my guide and mentor, Juan Ramirez.”
“Oh, as to that,” smiled the major, “there may be commissions enough for two.”