Still the sentinel's eyes looked dead ahead; but before he was past the bars he shifted his musket from one shoulder to the other, and in doing so the stock struck lightly against one of the bars. Perhaps it was accident; but Cristobal, being one of the Yankees of Spain, did not think so. He instantly knew that it meant, "I cannot get you through these bars." That was an objection that he was ready to meet; and when the guard passed again he hurriedly whispered,
"I can squeeze between the bars; I have tried it."
Still the sentinel looked dead ahead; but for the next few minutes as he passed he was saying something softly to himself every time he put his left foot foremost, just as a drill-master says, "left, left, left!" What he said softly to himself was, "dos," "dos," "dos," meaning, in English, "two," "two," "two."
"Dos!" Cristobal said to himself; "that means the two coins; both propositions accepted;" and he left the bars and went back into the darkness, and sat down satisfied.
When he offered that night to share his little store of gold with the kind old gentleman, his friend patted him upon the head.
"Bless your kind little heart!" said he. "I have no need of gold." Then removing his hat, he added, "Kneel, my son."
When Cristobal arose, after the priestly blessing, he noticed that the top of his friend's head was shaven bare, and the brief benediction made him feel stronger for the night's dangerous work.
For four days and nights he lay hidden in a big closet in the attic of No. 19 in the Calle O'Reilly, and then a Spanish pass was given him that carried him safely through the lines to La Flora. And Pedro? Pedro must remain a mystery till that cruel war is over. Americans are a people of great resources, and can often send their agents even within the walls of Spanish castles. It may safely be told that Cristobal and his sister are together on the Buena Vista plantation, and that Señor Pickard has not yet hoisted the stars and stripes and fortified the place.