"I heard from him yesterday. Some of our soldiers, while tramping through the woods, came across a Spaniard who was severely wounded. They treated him as well as he could possibly expect, dressed his wounds, and gave him a supply of water and bread and meat; and in return he told them about their prisoner, your father. He said your father was to be sent on to the authorities at Santiago as an American spy."
“A spy!”
“Yes, my boy, a spy. It is, of course, a foolish charge, but I am afraid it may cause your father a good deal of trouble.”
“Why, they place spies in dungeons and often shoot them, Señor Guerez!”
“Let us hope for the best, Mark,” he returned soothingly.
“Would they dare shoot an American citizen?”
“Unfortunately your father was caught wearing a Cuban uniform and with our flag pinned to his hat—as I have it.”
I bowed my head, and something like tears started to my eyes. This news was awful. Supposing my father was shot as a spy? I would be left alone in the world. Overcome by my emotions, I felt compelled to turn away, when Señor Guerez placed a kindly hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t be too downcast, my boy. It may not go so badly with your parent, and I will do all I can for both of you. As soon as I can arrange certain matters with the men who are in charge here, I will follow up those who have your father in charge and see if he cannot be rescued.”