“It’s a terrible thing when these wild dogs and a bloodhound on the trail meet,” observed Captain Guerez. “Of course one wild dog cannot do much, but the whole pack will fall on the bloodhound, and in the end the larger dog will be killed and literally torn to shreds.”
A storm was approaching, but this did not discourage us, although Burnham growled as usual. In fact, we soon found that he was a chronic fault-finder, but then he seldom meant half that he said, and, taken all in all, he was good company.
“If the storm grows heavy it will give us a good chance to cross the railroad tracks,” remarked the captain. “The sentries will relax their vigilance and more than likely seek shelter under the trees.”
“Won’t we strike some settlement before that?” I asked.
“Oh, yes; we are on the outskirts of Los Hanios now.”
Five minutes later we rode into a small village occupied principally by half a hundred cattlemen, for we were now coming to the meadows and valleys in which immense herds of cows and sheep are pastured. The people of Los Hanios took but little interest in the revolution, and as a consequence had been but little molested either by the Spaniards or Cubans, although a portion of their cattle had been confiscated.
From one of the head cattlemen Captain Guerez learned that a body of Spaniards had passed through the village the afternoon before bound for Santiago. They had several prisoners, who were tied hands and feet, and fast to the mules which carried them. At least one of the prisoners had been un Americano.
At Los Hanios we procured dinner, a splendid meal—the best I had eaten since leaving the steamer, for it consisted of prime roast beef done to a turn, potatoes and beans and coffee. Burnham attended to the cooking, saying he had cooked many a meal for himself during his Bohemian life at the “Hub,” and consequently all the dishes were turned out in true American style, garlic and such stuff being for once tabooed.
Yet I hurried matters, wishing to catch up with my father as soon as possible. I wondered if he knew I was after him, and how he was faring. I felt certain that to be bound to the back of a mule over these rough trails could be anything but a pleasant sensation.