“Then you’ve had sufficient of reporting down here?”
“Yes, indeed! If any other young man wants to come down here and take my place, he is welcome to do so.” And Gilbert Burnham spoke with an emphasis that proved he meant every word he uttered.
As soon as we were cooled off and rested, we resumed our way, through a heavy undergrowth which, on account of the entangling vines, often looked as if it would utterly stay our progress. But both of us were persevering, and by four o’clock had reached the section of country I had fancied the rebels were occupying.
My surmise was correct. Hardly had we proceeded a dozen yards along a side road than three Cubans leaped from behind some brush and commanded us to halt. We did so and explained that we were Americans, at the same time pointing to the burning fort and then crossing our wrists as though tied.
The rebels understood by this that we had been prisoners, and as we did not attempt to draw our pistols, they shouldered their long guns and conducted us to the officer in command.
“Look for Captain Guerez?” said the officer, whose name I have forgotten. “He ride off dat way!” and he pointed with his hand to the westward. “He look for you, I tink.”
This was comforting news, and I asked if Alano’s father had taken part in the attack on Cubineta, to which I received the reply that both the captain and all under him had taken part and that one of the insurgents had been killed.
“Was it his boy Alano?”
“No, man named Ciruso.”
I waited to hear no more, but, thanking the officer for his trouble, hurried off down a trail leading to the westward, with Burnham at my side.