Whish! whish! A tornado of whistling bullets tore through the leaves of the bushes that sheltered the little Cuban force.
“Oh, mi amigo!” suddenly groaned Ramirez, turning white.
For one of the bullets had struck Hal Maynard.
Up flew his hand to his forehead.
In the next second he keeled back—stretched out.
CHAPTER X.
UNDER CUBA’S FLAG.
“Ten lives shall not pay for that one!” exclaimed Juan.
But hardly were his words out when Hal sat up, wiping away the blood from his forehead.
“I’m a long ways from dead yet,” he gritted, wiping away the blood.
Ramirez ran to his side.