“He died with a jibe at Candotto, who would discover where our comrades were. The wine-shop is a heap of ashes now, but that night the friends of liberty came out from the barrancos and crept in upon Brena Abajo.”
“They drove the soldiers out?”
“No,” said the man very quietly. “The Peninsulares fought well. There are many dead patriots in the streets of Brena Abajo, and only Candotto’s men left to bury them.”
Maccario straightened himself suddenly in his chair. “It was a strong column?”
“No, señor. Four companies only. It seems Morales had sent for them.”
Maccario turned to Appleby. “Now we know why Morales, who does nothing without a motive, was waiting. Well, they will march slowly, fearing another attack, with a section or two thrown forward in case there were friends of ours waiting them among the cane. The Colonel Candotto would, however, send messengers to Morales.”
The man laughed in a curiously grim fashion. “Then they would never reach him. The paths are watched, and the friends of liberty are bold now there is to be war with America.”
“I think our friend is right,” said Maccario, who stood up with a little smile. “The service he has done us will be remembered in due time. Señor, the major-domo whom you will find below will give you food and show you where you can sleep.”
The man went out, and Appleby glanced at his comrade with a little flush in his face.
“I think our time has come,” he said.