CHAPTER XIII.
IGNACIO'S PLOTS.
For Clif Faraday had not failed to learn something of what a prisoner might expect in Havana. A classmate of his, Vic Rollins, had spent a couple of months there and had emerged almost a physical wreck.
And Clif could not tell how long he might have to remain. The war had already been going on long enough for him to see that it would last some time.
And the amount of cruelty and starvation he had before him was enough to make the cadet tremble.
He knew that the severest privation would fall to his lot.
Ignacio could be trusted to see to that.
"I don't think they'll dare to let him kill me," the American muttered. "But he'll probably get his satisfaction somehow."
At any rate, it was plain that the vengeful Spaniard meant to try. He soon set to work.
That Clif understood Spanish he was well aware. But he did not seem to mind it.