“Yes, my boy,” said the skipper, “and here he is;” for the Don suddenly appeared, mounted upon a sturdy mule, cantering towards them, with his steed making very light of the rugged stony ground, and stopping short close up to the group in response to a touch upon its rein, when its rider sprang lightly to the ground, looking as wiry and fresh as the beast he rode, in spite of the labours of the night.
“Ah, my friend! Welcome!” he cried. “And you too, my braves. Now,” he added joyously, his eyes sparkling with excitement, “have not my brave fellows worked? Are we not ready for the enemy when he comes? What have you to say? There are the guns! Tell me, are they well-placed? You who have brought them know so much. If they are not right, tell me what to do, and it shall be done.”
“I would not alter anything now,” said the skipper gravely.
“Why not, if they, are wrong? There is time, and plenty, for my scouts are far enough away, and the enemy is not in sight.”
The skipper was silent, but his eyes were not idle, and he seemed to be examining every disposition closely.
“He does not speak,” continued Don Ramon. “Then you, my young English officer; you come from a ship with guns, what have you to say?”
“I was wondering,” said Fitz, flushing, “not about the guns, for they seem well-placed, but whether the enemy could come down that little valley up yonder or get round by the rear.”
“No, no, no,” cried the Don exultantly. “Velova can only be reached by this pass, which my guns command. There is no other way—by land—but there is the sea.”
“And the gunboat?” said Fitz.
“Ah–h, yes, the gunboat!” cried the Don, with his face convulsed, as he clenched his hands. “The gunboat—yes. It is the key to the Presidency.”