Hal readily agreed, and hurriedly returned to the troopers. Then he and Gerald, accompanied by ten men, crept round the edge of the clearing to the farther side, and sat down to wait. At dawn some sharp reports rang out from the stone buildings, and answering flashes could be seen spurting from the sand-bag fort on the roof of the hacienda.
And now Hal's work began. Creeping through the plantations, he at length reached a spot from which it was possible to see the men who were firing at Eldorado. There were thirty or more, led by a man dressed in draggled white, whom he easily recognized as José d'Arousta.
"We'll give them a volley," he said, turning to his comrades. "Then we'll get at them full tilt. Fix bayonets, boys!"
Not a word was said in answer, but there was the ominous click of steel against steel. A moment or two later a volley was fired into the midst of the Spanish guerrillas.
"At them, boys!" cried Hal, springing to his feet. "Charge!"
At his shout the troopers dashed forward, and the greater part of the enemy at once bolted. Some, however, were too astonished to move, and fell at the point of the bayonet. As for José d'Arousta, he died as he had lived, a hard and cruel man, but one gifted with extraordinary tenacity and courage. Dodging a bayonet thrust with the rapidity of lightning, he sprang back a pace or two, and, drawing a revolver, fired point-blank at the trooper who was charging by Gerald's side.
"Take that, yer durned son of a Don!" cried the man, thrusting fiercely at him again. "Ha! tit for tat, my sonnie!"
The bayonet caught José full on the chest, and, thrusting right through him, pinned him to the wall. A deathly pallor at once spread over his face, his mouth gaped, and the revolver almost slipped from his nerveless fingers. But the manhood in him forced itself to the surface, and he lifted his head to glare at his enemies. Then an oath escaped his lips as his glazing eyes fell upon Hal, and with a last effort he lifted the weapon and fired.
Hal took no part in the further stages of the war. Indeed, there was little else to happen, for the fall of Santiago had been the beginning of the end. The American fleet being freed by the destruction of Cervera's fleet, the Government at Washington threatened to send some battleships to bombard the coast towns of Spain, and in the meanwhile dispatched an expedition to Puerto Rico. Menaced by a revolution at home, the Madrid Government finally gave way, and, on the 12th of August, peace was patched up between Spain and America, the former relinquishing her possessions in the Caribbean Sea.