“Do you see those lights ahead?” queried Juan, at last.
“Yes.”
“Those lights come from the Inn of the Red Cavalier. It is the inn where Spanish officers dine when they return from the interior well provided with plunder taken from those who had yet something left to lose. Judging by the sounds, there are officers dining there now.”
“A good place to keep away from, eh?” queried Hal.
“By no means, senor. Keep close to me, and I hope to show you that such places as the inn are useful to the insurgents.”
Ramirez left the road, plunging into the depths of a grove.
The nearer he came to the inn the more slowly he moved.
Frequent bursts of laughter were now audible from the inn.
“They are happy, the Spanish fiends,” muttered Juan, grating his teeth. “Yet, senor, they are feeding on the very blood of Cuba!”
Rattle of dishes and clink of glasses came to the ears of the listeners. Outside the inn were tethered some two score of horses, while soldiers lolled about over the ground, some eating bread, while others puffed at cigarettes.