The latter shook his head. "Antonio will go; he will keep watch while I clear a path. If you hear or see anything—"
Jacket interrupted with a sibilant: "Psst! Look! Yonder!"
A lantern-like illumination had leaped out of the blackness and now approached swiftly down the railroad grade.
O'Reilly laid a heavy hand upon the old Camagueyan and inquired in sharp suspicion, "What does that mean—an alarm?"
There was a breathless moment during which the four men followed the erratic course of the spark. Then Antonio chuckled. "Alabaos! A light-bug," said he. "Don't you know a cucullo when you see one?" He cautiously tested the ejector of his carbine and tightened the cord that served as his belt.
O'Reilly drew a deep breath of relief. He had never become wholly accustomed to the giant light-beetles of the tropics, although he had carried one often on sentry duty to see the face of his watch, and not infrequently had seen Cuban women wearing them in their hair as ornaments.
"Jove!" he muttered. "It gave me a fright."
Hilario resumed his instructions: "If anything goes wrong, wait here.
Don't ride away until we have time—"
"Never fear. I won't desert you," the American reassured him.
The two white-clad figures slipped away, became indistinct, and then disappeared. The night was hot, the mosquitoes hummed dismally and settled in clouds upon the waiting pair, maddening them with their poison. After a time a horse snorted and Jacket cursed nervously.