CHAPTER XI.

"BACK! IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE!"

Cara had been mistaken when she supposed Howard had been carried off in a wagon. A wagon had been used for several other prisoners, but Howard had been tightly bound with rawhide thongs and lashed to the back of a mule, which was then led away by one of the soldiers who had accompanied the detachment on horseback.

It was apparent that Howard need expect no favors from those who had him in charge. They considered him a spy, and as such destined to be finally shot; therefore, what was the use of kindness to him? He was jeered at and beaten, and when a halt was made for the night, at a plantation farm-house, he felt more dead than alive.

Yet in the midst of his sore troubles the young man did not think only of himself. He wondered where Estella and her maid were? Had the beautiful girl returned to her father, or was she still alone and unprotected in the district, now overrun with Spaniards and rebels?

"Would to Heaven I knew she was safe," he murmured. "I shudder at the thought of the perils that environ her."

With half a dozen other prisoners Howard had been confined in the cane-house, that is, the building in which the sugar-cane is sometimes stored. He had been thrown rudely upon the mud floor in one corner of the building, and a sentry had adopted the precaution of searching him and taking away his weapons and the precious letters.

It was a damp, disagreeable place in which to be confined, but Howard realized the uselessness of grumbling, and said nothing. One of the other prisoners protested, and was promptly kicked for complaining.

"I do not wonder the Cubans rebel," he thought. "This treatment by the Spaniards is sufficient to make even a worm turn."

Outside of the building a dozen Spaniards were encamped, the plantation home being too crowded to accommodate them. The soldiers killed a small pig, roasted and ate it, but offered nothing to their prisoners. It looked as if they would have been delighted to have seen Howard and the others starved to death.

At last, the camp outside of the cane-house became quiet, as one after another dropped off to sleep. Presently but one soldier was awake, the man at the cane-house door, left there on guard. He sat on a box, smoking one rudely made cigar after another, and his long gun rested across his knees, in readiness for use.

Immediately after being thrown down in the dark corner, Howard had begun to pull and strain at the thongs which bound him. This was painful work, and for a long time it seemed as if it would be useless, also. But finally he managed to free one hand, then the other hand, and then his feet quickly followed.

Turning over silently, Howard looked toward the guard, and by the light of a smoking lantern hung over the doorway, he saw the man in the act of lighting a fresh cigar. He immediately rose, and carelessly advanced to the fellow's side. A quick movement, and he had the gun presented at the head of the dumbfounded guard.

"Silence!" he commanded, in Spanish. "A word and your life will pay the forfeit!"

The man's teeth began to chatter, and he quaked from head to heels. He opened his mouth, but not a sound escaped him.

"Move on to yonder trees," went on Howard, in a whisper, as he pointed the way. "And, remember, no noise."

Still trembling violently, the guard obeyed the order, and the two found themselves beyond sight and hearing of those about the cane-house. Howard made the guard walk still farther, however, until all danger of being overheard was past.

"Now, answer my questions," he said, sternly. "Who is in command of this body of men?"

"Captain Nocolo," was the prompt reply. The guard did not dare to hesitate, for fear of death.

"Captain Nocolo. Where does he come from?"

"Santiago, señor."

"Do you know anything concerning him--his former business?"

"He was in the land business, señor--he bought and sold plantations."

"Who was in business with him?"

"One or two of the Mazenas family were with him."

"Ah! as I thought!" murmured the young war correspondent. "One of the very chaps who cheated my uncle Robert out of his fortune. What strange fate has brought us together!"

"You know him, señor?" questioned the guard.

"I know of him," returned Howard, bitterly. "Where is he now?"

"He went off with the young lady, and has not yet returned."

Howard started. Captain Nocolo had gone off with Estella? What could it mean?

"Where did they go?"

"Down toward the bay, señor."

"What was done with my papers?" went on the young war correspondent.

The man hesitated before replying.

"They were burned----" he began, when Howard thrust the gun muzzle into his face. "Dios, señor, don't shoot me!" he yelled. "I will give up all."

And, without delay, he produced not only the precious letters, but also Howard's pistol and several other articles, which the young war correspondent quickly stored about his person. Howard was about to bind and gag the man, when the tramp of horses' hoofs rang out close behind them, and two men rode up, one close behind the other, as if to support him.

"Hold! what means this?" cried the leader of the pair, as he drew rein. "It's lucky we came up by the back way, Captain Nocolo. Here is a prisoner escaping."

"The American spy!" burst from Captain Nocolo's lips, as he raised his bruised head. "Shoot him, Lieutenant Mazenas!"

"And who is he!" questioned Lieutenant Mazenas, as he gazed fixedly at the young war correspondent.

"Howard Sherwood--the heir of Robert Sherwood!" whispered Nocolo.

"Diablo!" growled Lieutenant Mazenas, hoarsely. "He is far better dead than alive!"

With drawn sabre he urged forward his horse, intending to strike Howard dead at his feet.

But the young war correspondent was too nimble for him. He leaped to one side, and aimed his gun.

"Back, if you value your life!" he said, warningly.

Lieutenant Mazenas paid no heed, but charged forward again. The hammer of the gun fell with a sharp click, but the gun, an old piece, failed to go off.

"Ha! we have you now!" hissed the lieutenant. "Throw him down!" he shouted to the guard, and leaped from his horse, intending to make Howard a prisoner again.

Finding the gun useless, the young war correspondent turned to flee. But the quarrel, brief as it was, had aroused those around the cane-house, and the soldiers quickly surrounded him. With a vigorous blow, Howard stretched one man senseless, and then a dozen pounced upon him, and he was borne to the ground, and kicked and beaten until unconscious.

"I have the inclination to kill him where he lies!" hissed Captain Nocolo, as he stood by Howard's side, a grim smile of satisfaction on his bony face. "But for him, the fair Estella----"

"What is it you say of Estella?" demanded Lieutenant Mazenas, glaring savagely into his companion's face. "Remember, by the terms of our contract, you relinquished her to me, heart and hand!"

With a muttered curse Captain Nocolo turned away to his men, while Mazenas gave orders that Howard be removed to an old stone building some distance from the cane-house. This was done, and when he came to his senses, Howard found himself inside of four stone walls, and heavily chained.

"I am in a worse pickle than before," he thought, dismally. "A prisoner of Captain Nocolo, and Lieutenant Mazenas, and they both wish me out of the way. It will be a miracle if I escape with my life!"

Hour after hour went by until dawn came on.

Then, all chained as he was, Howard was taken outside and strapped once more to the back of a mule.

A journey lasting the best part of the day followed. It was over roads deep with mud, made worse by the feet of hundreds of horses, and in a blazing hot sun, which struck down on his uncovered head and made him dizzy and faint. At noon he was released and given a portion of meat cooked in a pot with garlic, but he could not eat the nauseating mess. Water was all he desired, and this was given him, scooped out of the muddy hollows by the wayside.

Dear reader, do not fancy that this is an over-drawn picture, painted merely for the purpose of working upon your feelings. The picture is painted from life; and what Howard Sherwood suffered, hundreds of Cubans, fighting for that one priceless boon, Liberty, have suffered. In many cases, to be made a prisoner was worse than to be killed, for it meant galling chains, hunger, thirst, beating, and possibly starvation. Is it a wonder that these hardy rebels, when engaged in conflict, fought like demons, and came out victorious even when the opposing forces were two and threefold larger than their own? It was the dread of what might happen should defeat overtake them, that steeled their hearts and hands, and made them know no such word as surrender.

The end of the day found the party in sight of Marambo, and half an hour later, Howard and his companions in chains, were driven like cattle into the large stone building.

Once inside, Howard was conducted by special order to a narrow cell at the farther end of a long corridor. Here he was chained fast to an iron ring in the wall.

"Now you can remain there to rot, unless you are destined to be shot," said his jailer, and left him to his bitter reflections.