A DISHEARTENING DISCOVERY.
“Under Spanish guard!” I cried, and looked questioningly at Alano’s father.
“That’s too bad,” he said gravely. “However, there is no help for this unexpected turn of affairs, and we must make the best of it. Alano, my son, you are sure you are not mistaken?”
“There are a number of Spanish soldiers on the highway, and with the field-glass I saw that more soldiers were scattered round about.”
“Then your report must be true. I’ll ride ahead and take a view of the situation.”
I begged to go along, and Captain Guerez agreed. Alano came too, while the others withdrew to a thicket, to avoid being surprised by any of the Spaniards who might be out foraging.
A turn in the highway brought us in full view of Cubineta. Of course we were not foolish enough to expose ourselves. Screened behind bushes and vines, we took a survey through the glass of the place, its people, and the soldiers.
Cubineta was not a large village, but it was a pretty place and evidently thriving—or had been thriving before the war put a blight upon all Cuban industries. There was one long street of stores and dwellings, a church, a casa or town-house, and at the farthest end what looked to be a hastily constructed fort, built of heavy logs and sods.
“The Spaniards are evidently going to use the place as a center or depot for supplies,” was Captain Guerez' comment. “Under the present circumstances I hardly know what is best to do.”