CHAPTER XXIII.

CONDEMNED TO DIE!--TOMASSO'S WORDS--A GALLANT RESOLVE.

The drink of water which the Jailer Luigi had intended should bring death to Howard Sherwood, was unsuspectingly swallowed by the young war correspondent. It was bitter, but that was all, and as much of the Cuban water has a salty flavor, he considered this nothing unusual.

After giving him the water, the jailer hurried away, confident that Howard would soon be a dead man. Left to himself, the young man threw himself on his bench, and gave himself up to his reflections.

"I'll be tried in the morning, that's certain," he thought. "Now, the question is, what defense can I make?"

This was not an easy point to decide. He wished to shield Estella as much as possible, even at a risk to himself.

"My noble girl must not suffer," he decided. "She has already suffered too much in my behalf!"

The hours went slowly by until morning dawned without; a dull morning indeed, with the warm rain coming down unceasingly. Estella's prayer in this particular had been answered. There had been no cessation in the downpour, and everywhere, within and without the city, the poorly constructed roads were heavy with mud. Despite the onerous taxes imposed, Spain had never given Cuba good highways, and now, in moving her army from place to place, she was made to suffer roundly for her neglect. On more than one occasion, during the rainy season, not a cannon, not even a mule team, could be moved from one town to the next.

Little did the young war correspondent dream that, less than a hundred feet away, Estella sat in a dismal cell, her face buried in her hands, and her dark hair falling in a disheveled mass over her shoulders, the picture of despair.

From words dropped by her jailer, she had surmised that Captain Martinez's proposed attack upon Marambo was known, and steps were being taken to meet it.

"The insurgents within the city will have no time in which to arm themselves. More than likely, every suspected person here will be immediately placed under arrest."

A trumpet call sounded through the damp air, coming from without the prison. A minute later, and Luigi appeared at the door of Howard's cell, accompanied by two guardsmen detailed to escort the young war correspondent before the special court-martial.

"Caramba!" muttered the jailer, and fell back with a white face.

He had fully expected to find Howard a corpse upon the stone floor. To see the young man with a half-smile upon his handsome face nearly took away his breath.

But he dared not ask questions, and immediately proceeded to release Howard from his chains. This done, the two soldiers told him to march, and, one on either side of him, escorted him out of the prison and to the Council Hall, where the hearing was to be held.

It was evident to Howard's trained eye that the officers in charge were much worried, for no time was lost in opening court. Then a call was made for Lieutenant Mazenas, but he was not present.

"He cannot leave the railroad property," was the explanation given to account for his absence, and then Captain Nocolo was called.

The captain briefly related his story, telling how Howard had escaped from Santiago by boat, of the capture and then of his second escape. Much more was said, the captain doing his best to convict Howard. He imagined that Luigi had lacked the courage to administer the poison.

"And what have you to say in your defense, Señor Sherwood?" demanded the presiding officer, his lowered brows bent full upon Howard's manly face.

Howard told his story as plainly as possible, leaving out only those portions which related more particularly to Estella. He accused Captain Nocolo of a personal interest in having him shot or imprisoned, but to this assertion the court would not listen.

"Captain Nocolo is an honorable Spanish officer; we know him well," said one of the court judges. "You had better confine your remarks to yourself. You are accused of being a spy, and as yet have brought forth no evidence to clear yourself."

"I can say no more, gentlemen," returned Howard, angrily, for he considered this treatment almost brutal. "I have told the truth. I am an innocent man, and if I am punished, the consequences will be upon your heads."

"Take him away!" roared the presiding officer, an intimate friend of the Nocolo family.

And Howard was immediately handcuffed again, and led back to the prison. The court went into secret session for only five minutes, and then it was announced that he had been found guilty of being a spy in the interests of the rebels, and he was sentenced to be shot immediately. The reader may imagine this statement to be over-drawn, but let us add that since the beginning of the present insurrection such hasty trials have been frequent and many patriots have been tried and shot within the hour of their capture.

Hardly had Howard reached the interior of the prison grounds than a special messenger rode up announcing the decision of the court-martial. A guard was at once detailed to carry out the order. The young war correspondent heard the news with a sinking heart.

"They would murder me," he thought. "This is the work of Lieutenant Mazenas and Captain Nocolo quite as much as of the Spanish authorities."

There was so much excitement at the entrance to the prison that, once within the yard, the guards paid scant attention to Howard, saving to see that he did not attempt to escape.

Within the prison yard a hundred or more prisoners were tramping about in the rain, taking their daily exercise. Howard watched them curiously, yet not without a certain feeling of envy. To be merely a prisoner was one thing--to be condemned to be shot quite another. How he wished for a single chance to obtain his freedom! But no such chance offered itself.

Among the prisoners there was a man who attracted Howard's attention by his queer movements each time that he came close to the young war correspondent. Howard mused on the matter for several minutes, and came to the conclusion that the fellow wished to speak to him.

Then he recognized Tomasso, although the overseer's face was partially concealed in bandages placed on the sword cuts he had received in his efforts to save himself and his young mistress from arrest.

Cautiously Howard moved on a few steps to a spot where Tomasso would come within a few feet of him. The long line of prisoners marched around, and the overseer drew close. As he approached he bent forward with a keen glance, to be certain that he was not observed.

"Estella is here," he whispered in English, that the other prisoners next to him might not understand. "Cell 47."

He moved on, and Howard fell back nearly dumfounded. What was this Tomasso had said? Estella a prisoner in cell 47! He could scarcely believe the evidence of his own ears. He waited until the overseer came round again.

"What for?" he questioned.

"Helping the rebels, and trying to help you," replied Tomasso. "Beware of poison. I saved you once; I may not be able to do so again, señor!"

Tomasso moved on quickly after this. But a guard had seen him talking this time, and with an oath he belabored the faithful fellow over the shoulders with a cowhide.

"Didn't I tell you to keep silent? Another word and I'll string you up by the thumbs, you dirty rebel!"

Howard scarcely heard the remarks. Estella had been arrested for aiding the insurgents, and for trying to aid him, a condemned spy? What would they do with his sweetheart--condemn her to death, also?

"Would that I could speak to her, if only once again!" he thought, and instantly decided to make a final and desperate effort to do so.