"Eighteen."
"Ugly as an alligator, I'll warrant."
"Ha! The most ravishing creature in all Matanzas. All the men were mad over her." Cueto's eyes gleamed craftily, for he believed he had measured Cobo's caliber. "She should have married old Castano and all his money, but she was heart and soul in the revolution. She and the boy were spying on us, you know, and sending the information to that rebel, Lopez."
"Lopez! Spies, were they?"
"The worst kind. You'd scarcely believe it of a beautiful girl, with her culture and refinement. I tell you it broke more than one heart. De Castano, for instance, has never recovered. He sits all day in the Casino and grieves for her. Such hair and eyes, such skin—as white as milk—and flesh as pure as the petals of a flower. Well, you wouldn't believe such charms existed."
Colonel Cobo, the guerrilla, licked his full, red lips and ran a strong, square hand over his curly, short-cropped hair. "You say you know where she—where they are living?"
"Ah, perfectly! It's less than a night's ride. There's no one except the boy to reckon with."
"How much is he worth to you?" bluntly inquired the soldier, and Cueto sat down to make the best terms possible.
"Do you think he received my letter?" Rosa asked of her brother one evening as they sat on the board bench by Asensio's door. It was a familiar question to Esteban; he had answered it many times.
"Oh yes!" he declared. "Lopez's messenger got through to Key West."