A dream it certainly was not. The rifle with which each was provided was a reality. So was the small Cuban flag which Juan now wore proudly pinned to his tattered jacket.
Havana was now many miles behind. They were well up in the hills. Around them all was verdure and bloom.
This bit of wild forest beauty had escaped the devastating hand of the Spaniard.
It was Easter morning, Hal remembered, with a thrill. Surely, in this spot, nature was doing floral honor to the day.
Not a sound was heard save the calling of the birds, the buzzing of insects. Perched on a rise of ground, screened by thick bushes, a foe might have stood within a hundred feet and not discovered them.
“The only danger,” smiled Hal, “would come from Juan’s snoring.”
Amid all this solitude of nature, however, Juan’s nasal notes did not seem a source of danger.
“Jupiter! What’s that?” muttered Hal, suddenly.
From his perch he had an excellent view up a long, winding ravine.
“The glint of the sun on steel, as sure as I’m a sinner,” muttered the boy.