Clif decided to find out what it meant. If the Spaniards were preparing a surprise for him, he intended finding it out.
Cautiously he climbed upon the little rampart of earth and looked away beyond the trees where he had first seen the approach of the enemy. In the moonlight he could plainly distinguish the forms of the soldiers. There were not as many as he had at first supposed—they numbered not more than fifty.
In the midst of them he recognized a figure that explained the cause of their mysterious conduct, and at the same time aroused his fighting instinct.
He quickly rejoined his companions, his eyes ablaze with the fire of combat.
"They have captured the courier," he explained to his waiting companions. "That was why they cheered so lustily. A lot of jubilation over the capture of one man!"
"They don't have such good luck very often," exclaimed one of the men.
"They fired enough shots to repulse a whole regiment of insurgents," exclaimed Clif, "but it was all for the benefit of this one mambesi. I don't believe they saw me at all, but that bullet through my cap was one of their stray shots."
"But they must know we are here," exclaimed the men.
"I doubt it," replied Clif, "else why do they halt so near and not charge on us? Shall we force the fight and go to the rescue of our Cuban friend?"
"How many are there of them?" asked one of the men.