“Before nightfall!” My heart seemed to stop beating. “How will they do it? Can’t we stop them and rescue him?”
“We must rescue him,” was the reply. “That is why I hurried back. If they get him to Santiago he will be—that is, Mark, I am afraid you will never see him alive again.”
I understood Captain Guerez only too well. My father was doomed to die the death of a spy, and he would be shot very shortly after his removal to the seaport town.
[CHAPTER XXXIV.]
THE DOGS OF CUBAN WARFARE.
In a few minutes Alano’s father recovered sufficiently to tell his story. He had entered the village in safety, and soon put himself into communication with several citizens who were Cuban sympathizers. From one of these he had learned that my father was being kept a prisoner in what had formerly been a cattle-house, but which was now doing duty as a Spanish prison. No one was allowed to talk to the prisoners, but by bribing the man who owned the building the captain had succeeded in getting word to my father that he was around and that I was with him, and that both of us intended to do all in our power to effect his release.
This word having been passed to my parent, Captain Guerez has set about perfecting a plan whereby my father might be supplied with tools for freeing himself, and also a pistol. But in this work he had been discovered, and a struggle and flight followed. Luckily, the Spaniards had not discovered whom he was working for in particular, there being a dozen prisoners in the same building, so it was not likely my parent would suffer in consequence.
“We must watch the road to Santiago,” said Captain Guerez, when he had finished, washed himself, and had a refreshing drink of water. “It is our one chance.”