“You must take things easy, Mark,” he said. "Stewing won’t do any good, and it will only make you sick, combined with this hot weather, which, I know, is about all you can stand."
“If only I felt certain that my father was safe, Alano! Remember, he is all I have in the world. My mother has been dead for years, and I never had a brother or a sister.”
“I think it will all come out right in the end,” he answered, doing his best to cheer me up. “They won’t dare to—to——” He did not finish.
“To shoot him? That’s just what I fear they will do, Alano. From what I heard at Santiago de Cuba, the Spaniards are down on most Americans, for they know we sympathize with you and think Cuba ought to be free, or, at least ought to have a large hand in governing itself.”
When nightfall came most of the others lay down to sleep. But this was out of the question for me, tired though I was physically, and so I was left on guard, with instructions to call one of the men at midnight.
Slowly the hours went by, with nothing to break the stillness of the night but the hum of countless insects and the frequent note of a night bird. We had not dared to build a campfire, and in consequence there was no getting where the smoke drifted and out of the way of the mosquitoes.
At midnight I took a walk around to see if all was safe. The man I was to call slept so soundly I had not the heart to wake him up, so I continued on guard until one, when a noise down by the road attracted my attention.
Pistol in hand I stalked forward, when I heard a low voice and recognized Jorge. The negro had been walking fast, and he was almost out of breath.
“Well?” I inquired anxiously. “Is my father there?”
“I think he is, señor,” replied the guide. “I go to prison-fort—da have six Cubans dare an' one Americano.”