“Talk about balmy groves and summer skies,” he growled. "I would rather be at the North Pole any time. Why, I’ll bet a dollar you could bake bread on that bit of ground out there!" and he pointed to a stretch of dark soil, dried as hard as stone by the fierce rays of the sun.
“The average Cuban never thinks of traveling in the sun between eleven and three o’clock, and I don’t blame him,” I rejoined. “Let us climb a tree and take it easy.”
We mounted an oak, I making certain first that there was no snake on it, and took seats near the very top. By parting the branches we could get a fair view of Cubineta, and we saw that the attack was at an end. The rebels had retreated out of sight, but not before setting fire to the fort, which was burning fiercely, with nothing being done to save it from destruction.
“To me it looks as if the rebels were bunched in the woods to the north,” I said, after a long and careful survey. “I wish we had a field-glass.”
“I’m glad we took the pistols, Carter. They may come in very handy before we reach safe quarters again.”
“I’m sure I don’t want to shoot anyone, Burnham,” I answered.
“But you believe in defending yourself?”
“Yes. But what do you propose to do, now you have escaped?”
“Get back to the coast and take the first vessel I can find for the United States.”