"What's all this, Juan?" asked Delmonte. "No order was given."
Juan replied with submission that a negro boy had brought news an hour ago that Don Annunzio's house had been burned, he and his whole household murdered, and their captain taken prisoner; and that the latter was being brought in irons along the road to Santiago. They, Juan and the rest, had planned a rescue, and disposed themselves to that end in the most advantageous manner. That they were about to fire, when they recognised their captain's escort as Americans; and that they then resolved to accompany the party as quietly as might be till they came near the camp, and then make their presence known to all, as they had at once made it known to Delmonte himself by a low call which only he had noticed.
"Not wishing to intrude," Juan concluded, with a superb salute.
Delmonte turned to his companions. "Miss Montfort," he said, "Captain Montfort—you'll all come up to my place, of course, and rest, for to-day, at least. It isn't much of a place to ask you to, but—it's quiet, at least, and—you can rest; and you must be half-starved. I know I am."
His face was eager as a boy's. Rita's was not less so, as she gazed at the big cousin, who stroked his beard as usual, and reflected.
"I did mean to push straight on to Santiago," he said, "but—it's a good bit of a way, to be sure; what do you say, little cousin? tired? hey?"
Rita blushed. "A—a little tired, Cousin Jim; and very hungry!"
This settled it. Captain Montfort bid Delmonte "fire away." The latter said a few rapid words to Juan, and the scout shot off like an arrow across the fields, riding as if for his life.
An hour later, the whole party was seated around a fire, in as comfortable a nook of the hills as guerilla leader could desire, sipping coffee, and eating broiled chicken and fried bananas, fresh from the parilla. The fire was built against a great rock that rose abruptly from the dell, forming one side of it, and towering so high that the smoke disappeared before it reached the top. Thick woods framed the other sides of the natural fastness, and here the Cuban riders could lie hidden for days and weeks, unsuspected, unseen, save by the wandering birds that now and then circled above their heads. No tents or huts here; the horses were tethered to trees; the commander's hammock was swung in a shady thicket near the great rock; as for his men, a ragged blanket and the "soft side of a stone" were all they asked.
Rita had dressed Captain Delmonte's wound, and bandaged the arm in approved style, Cousin Jim looking on with grunts of approval. He and Delmonte himself both assured her that, if they were handling it, they should simply squirt carbolic acid into it, and tie it up with anything that came handy; but Rita shook her head gravely, and three of her delicate handkerchiefs, brought from the long-suffering bag which Manuela had somehow managed to save from the ruins, torn into strips, made a very sufficient bandage. The wound was, in truth, slight. Delmonte looked almost as if he wished it more severe, for the whole matter of bathing and dressing could not be stretched beyond ten minutes; but Rita's pride in her neat bandage was pretty to see, and he watched her with delighted eyes through every stage.