“We fooled them nicely, did we not, capitan?” he said.
“You did well, Murillo,” said Alano’s father. “Here is a gold piece for your trouble.”
But the old man drew back, and would not accept the coin. “I did it not alone for you,” he said. “Cuba libre!”
We all thanked him heartily, and then Alano’s father asked him in what directions the two bodies of soldiers had gone. That from the railroad had taken the highway to Canistero.
“We will have to take another road, not quite so short,” said Captain Guerez. “It is unfortunate, Mark, but it cannot be helped. Forward!”
Much refreshed by our night’s rest, we struck out rapidly, and by noon calculated that we had covered eight miles, a goodly distance in that hilly district. A little before noon we came out on a clearing overlooking a long stretch of valley and swamp lands.
“Just below here is the village of San Luardo,” said the captain. “It is there we ought to find out something concerning your father. It may be possible he is quartered somewhere in the village, that is, if the journey to Santiago has been delayed.”
“Is the village under guard?” I questioned anxiously, my heart giving a bound when I thought how close to my parent I might be.
“Yes, every village in this district is under Spanish rule.”