Alano laughed more loudly than ever. “That’s just it—you would fight for the United States just as we are now willing to fight for our beloved Cuba.”
I had to smile, for I saw that he was right. Cuba was as much to him as our United States was to me, and let me add that I am a Yankee lad to the backbone, and always hope to be.
Having passed the end of a large plantation, we came to several storehouses, which were wide-open and empty, and here we pitched our camp for the night.
“How close are we to the spot where my father was taken?” I asked of Alano’s father after supper.
“We have passed that locality,” was the answer, which surprised me not a little. “By to-morrow noon I hope to reach a village called Rodania, where I will be able probably to learn something definite concerning his whereabouts.”
This was certainly encouraging, and I went to bed with a lighter heart than I had had since leaving the old convent. Hope in a youthful breast is strong, and I could not but believe that so far all had gone well with my parent.
Fortunately, the storehouse in which I slept with Alano and Captain Guerez was a clean affair, so we were not troubled as we had been at Molino with vermin. We turned in at nine o’clock, and ten minutes sufficed to render me forgetful of all of my surroundings.
I awoke with a cough. I could not breathe very well, and sat up in the darkness to learn what was the matter. The wind had banged shut the storehouse door, and it was strangely hot within.
“I’ll open the door and let in some fresh air,” I said to myself, and arose from the bunch of straw upon which I had made my bed.
As I moved across the storehouse floor I heard several of the horses which were tethered outside let out snorts of alarm. Feeling something was surely wrong, I called to Alano and his father.