At last they were mounted, and, with their horses impatiently pawing the ground, as if as anxious to go forward as they were, they bade farewell to their emotional Latin friend, who almost broke down as the hour for parting came. He controlled himself bravely, however, although the squeeze of his hand he bestowed on each of the Americans bespoke his high regard for them.
“Good-by, sir, and good luck!” called back all of them, as they cantered out into darkness with their guide.
“Don’t forget to smash the De Barros if she pokes her nose out!” called Ned.
The De Barros, it will be recollected, was the only remaining vessel at Santa Anna, a small converted yacht. It was not likely that she would venture to try conclusions with the destroyer, which had proved herself such a terrible opponent, but if she did Captain Gomez meant to be ready for her.
On and on into the darkness cantered the Americans and their silent guide. About midnight the moon arose and showed them that they were traversing a rough, hilly country near the seacoast.
“We are not far from Miraflores,” said their guide, as he turned in his saddle.
Miraflores!
What memories the name recalled! How much had happened to each of them in the brief interval since their escape from the prison there! How much older each of them felt!