The country through which they were riding was broad and flat, rising
gradually to the blue hills at the southward. All about them it seemed
as if the land had once been under cultivation; but now it was overgrown
with rank vegetation.

In the distance could be seen the buildings of a little town, for which
they were heading.

The Spanish cavalrymen rode along merrily, their accoutrements jingling.
They were a dark-skinned, black-haired lot, and most of them were small,
and not very sturdily built. The Americans had heard it said that they
didn't get enough to eat, and they looked it.

The prisoners were mounted upon spare horses, and were kept well in the
middle of the group. Their hands were tied behind them, and one of their
captors had hold of the bridles of their mounts.

Clif's was a jaded old nag, and kept stumbling and stopping, making the
task of riding a difficult one, but he did not notice it very much, for
he was busily thinking.

His present situation was indeed a discouraging one, and he felt its
degradation keenly. It was not that his conscience troubled him, for he
knew that he had done all that could be expected of him.

But he was a prisoner for all that, and he had before him all the
horrors of which he had heard so much.

Still there was no chance of escape, and he could only bow to the
inevitable; but he could not help feeling a thrill of apprehension as he
glanced behind him and saw the malignant Ignacio gazing at him.

But Ignacio bided his time, and said nothing. Meanwhile, the troopers
trotted on.

In about fifteen minutes the little town drew near. Clif did not know
the name of it, for he had no idea where he had run ashore on the
previous night. But he did not think he was far from Havana.

The arrival of the soldiers created intense excitement in the town. Men
and women and children and barking dogs rushed out to see them pass.

And when it was discovered that five Yankees had been captured the
cavalrymen received an ovation. But they made straight on to their
destination; what it was Clif had no trouble in guessing.

There was a railroad station in the town, and there the troopers came to
a halt. Most of them dismounted from their horses to rest, and the
captain hurried off to attend to the task of getting a train to take
those prisoners to the capital.

Meanwhile a great crowd gathered about the little station; most of them
were ugly-looking, ragged men, and they crowded around the prisoners and
stared at them curiously.

There were looks of hatred upon their unpleasant faces, and their
remarks it may be believed were not complimentary.

"The Yankee pigs have met their match at last," snarled one
tobacco-stained peon, who had forced his way up close to Clif.

"And they'll go to Havana as they wanted to," put in another, with a
leer. "They were boasting they'd get there."

There were some grins at that sally, which encouraged the Spaniard to go
on.

"How do you like it?" he inquired. "Santa Maria, couldn't you have run
fast enough?"

"They won't run any more," snarled another. "They'll be put where
they're safe."

An old woman with a haggard, savage-looking face and a heavy stick shook
the latter in the Americans' faces, as she cursed them in her shrill,
Spanish jargon.

And then suddenly came a loud cry from the outskirts of the crowd.

"Stone the pigs! Kill 'em! Don't let them get away!"

Clif could not see the man who yelled that, but he knew the voice, and
realized that Ignacio was getting in his fine work again.

And he seemed likely to be successful, too, for the cry appeared to
please the crowd.

"Yes, yes, kill 'em!" swelled the muttering shout.

And a moment later some one, perhaps Ignacio himself, flung a heavy
stone at the Americans.

It sailed over the heads of the mob, and struck one of the sailors a
glancing blow on the forehead.

It made an ugly wound, and blood flowed.

The sight seemed to please the crowd.

"Por dios!" they laughed. "Good for them! Keep it up!"

Perhaps the sight of blood enraged them; but at any rate, their
hostility became more evident. They shook their fists and muttered
savagely.

And all the while Ignacio's voice chimed in.

"Kill 'em! Kill 'em!"

The prisoners seemed about to have a very unpleasant experience indeed.
There was no one to restrain the crowd except the soldiers and they
sympathized with the angry people.

And the crowd seemed to know that; they surged nearer.

"A prison's too good for them!" they roared.

The old hag was still shaking her cane and yelling her maledictions. At
that moment a man snatched the stick from her hand and aimed a blow at
Clif's face.

The cadet's hands were tied behind him, and he was nearly helpless. But
he managed to turn and catch the blow upon his shoulders.

And an instant later his foot shot out and caught the enraged Spaniard
squarely in the stomach.

The man staggered back.

"Madre di dios!" he gasped. "He's killed me."

Clif's daring action set the crowd in a perfect frenzy.

"Stone 'em!" yelled Ignacio.

And seemingly all at once they sprang at the prisoners with sticks and
stones and knives and fists.

The soldiers made a feeble effort to stop them, but the crowd saw them
laughing as they did so.

"Nobody cares about the Yankee pigs!" the crowd roared. "Go for them."

It would have gone hard with the Americans just then had it not been for
the fact that the captain reappeared. He had no love to waste on them,
but he knew his duty.

And he sprang forward with a stern command:

"Drive that crowd back! Quick!"

And then the cavalrymen acted in a quite different manner. The angry mob
was forced away, in spite of their protests. The sailors breathed
somewhat more freely.

Still it was to their relief when they saw an engine and a single
freight car coming up the track. They knew that was for them and that
they would soon be out of the reach of that mob.

"But not of Ignacio!" Clif groaned. "Not of Ignacio."

The "private car" intended for the strangers came to a stop in front of
the little station, and they were told to dismount from the horses and
enter.

The crowd gave a parting jeer as they lost sight of them. Once inside
the sailors were gruffly ordered to sit down, and their feet were tied
securely.

A sergeant and three men were detailed to mount guard over them, and
then everything was ready for the start.

Clif watched anxiously for one thing; he had an idea that his deadly
enemy might not succeed in following them the rest of the journey.

But in that he soon saw that he was mistaken. Ignacio had no idea of
being foiled in his vengeance. Just before the door of the car was shut
his small, crouching figure entered.

He stopped just long enough to clinch his fist and shake it at Clif; and
then he retired into a corner to snarl angrily to himself.

A few moments later there was a creaking of wheels and the "train" had
started. The roar of the crowd died away and was succeeded by the sound
of the rapid motion.

The prisoners were on their way to Havana.

"And I wish there'd be a wreck and end us before we got there," mused
Clif.




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.

For he began a conversation with the sergeant. And he did not take the
trouble to whisper what he had to say, though one would have thought he
would not care to have so villainous a plot known to any one.

The officer in charge of the Americans was sitting near them with his
own sword lying in his lap. And Ignacio crept over to him.

"Jose," said he, "Jose Garcia, listen to me."

"What is it?"

"Jose, have you been paid your wages for the last six months?"

The soldier gazed at Ignacio in astonishment.

"Carramba! What's that to you?"

"Nothing, Jose, except that you need money, don't you?"

It was evident from the look that came over the Spanish soldier's face
that the answer he made was sincere.

"Santa Maria!" he cried. "Yes! Why?"

"Would you like to make some?"

"How much?"

Slowly Ignacio reached his hand inside of his shirt and pulled out a
little bag.

He loosened the mouth of it and took the contents out. He spread them
out on the floor of the car.

"It is American money," he said, "the money of the pigs. But it is good
money for all that."

"How much is there?"

"Ha! ha! You are interested, are you? Well, well!"

Ignacio's dark eyes glittered as he slowly went over the pile of bills.

"See, sergeant," said he, "here is a hundred-dollar bill. Just think of
it! Look at it! Think if I should get that bill changed into good
Spanish gold. The British consul would do it."

"Yes, he is a friend of the Yankees."

"Yes, he would do it for me. And then here is fifty dollars more. Look
and count it. Think of what you could do with one hundred and fifty
dollars of the Yankee's money. Think of what it would buy--food and I
know not what--a fine dress for your sweetheart, to take her away from
that rival of yours. And it is all good money, too."

"How am I to know it?"

"Carramba! Couldn't you take my word. You know me, Jose, and what I do
for Spain. Do you not know that I am a friend of Blanco's? Hey? And you
know that he trusts me when he trusts nobody else."

"And how did you get that money?"

"How did I get it! Ha! ha! I will tell--yes, por dios, I will, and those
Yankee pigs may hear me, too. Ha! ha! There was what they called a
traitor on the New York, the Yankee's flagship. She isn't much, but she
is the best they have. One of our little gunboats could whip her, for it
would be men fighting pigs."

The sergeant's eyes danced.

"And we'll sink her, too," went on Ignacio. "Just wait! I saw her run
away once from a little gunboat. The Yankees build their boats swifter
than ours so they can run away. But anyhow, as I said this man was
working for Spain. And he tried to blow up the flagship."

"Por dios!" cried the sergeant, "like we did the Maine."

"Exactly. It would have been another glorious triumph for us. And, Jose
Garcia, who do you think it was that prevented him?"

The man clinched his fists.

"I don't know!" he cried, "but I wish I could get hold of him."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"What would you do to him?"

"Santa Maria! I'd get him by the throat----"

"You would?"

"Yes. And I would choke him till he was dead."

"Dead!" echoed Ignacio, with a hoarse cry of triumph.

And then he raised one arm trembling all over with rage and hatred.

"Jose!" he half yelled.

"What is it?"

"Suppose I should tell you, Jose--suppose I should tell you that the
villain is here?"

"Here?"

"Yes. By Heaven, he's here. Jose, that is he!"

And the fellow pointed straight at Clif, while he leaned forward and
stared into the Spaniard's face, eager to see what the effect of his
announcement would be.

It must have suited him, for he gave a low laugh, a fiendish chuckle.

Then he went on.

"And not only that, Jose! Think of what else he has done."

"Has he done more?"

"Yes, por dios, he has. Listen. Jose, we have in our power the worst of
our country's enemies. Jose, he is a fiend, a perfect devil. He has
ruined nearly every plan I tried. Do you know if it had not been for
him--yes, for him--I should have stabbed the great pig admiral."

"Carramba!"

"Yes."

"Not Sampson."

"Yes, he, the villain who is blockading Havana and destroying our ships.
I had the knife at his heart, and that Yankee pig prevented me. Do you
wonder that I hate him?"

"No. I hate him, too."

"Yes! For you are a true Spaniard. But about that money, Jose. I got it
as I say, from this Schwartz. For when this Yankee pig stopped him from
blowing up the New York he ran away and hid. And he paid me this for
helping him to Cuba."

Ignacio held up the bills before the hungry eyes of the Spanish
sergeant.

And when he had given him time to look at it and think of what it meant
for him, Ignacio suddenly bent forward and got close to him.

"Jose," he cried, "it's all for you!"

The man stared eagerly.

"What for?" he cried.

"I will tell you!" said Ignacio.

Once more he slipped his hand under his jacket.

"Look," said he.

And he drew out a sharp, gleaming dagger!

He ran his fingers over the edge, hissing as he did so between his
teeth.

"It is sharp," he muttered. "Ha! ha! sharp! And it will do the work."

"What work?"

"Listen, Jose. There lies the fiend of a Yankee. He is in my power at
last. He has baffled me, ruined me, but now I have him! Yes, he can't
get away! Ha! ha! I feel merry. Jose, he is my deadliest enemy; he is
your enemy, too, the enemy of our glorious country. I hate him--so must
you."

"I do!"

"Then listen. I want to take this knife, this nice, sharp knife that I
have been grinding for him. Ha! ha! Santa Maria, how sharp it is! And I
will put this money, all this money, into your hands and you will turn
away so as not to see. And I will take this knife in my hand so. And I
will creep over toward that fellow----"

"And kill him?"

"Listen, Jose. You spoil it. He'll scream. He'll turn pale and tremble
like the coward he is. But he can't get away, Jose, he can't get away!
I've got him, Jose! And I'll unbutton his jacket, that hated Yankee
uniform. And I'll take this knife and I'll put it right close to his
soft, white skin. Then I will press down--down! And you'll hear him
scream as it goes in; he'll twist about and shriek, but I will pin him
to the floor. And then he will lie there, Jose, and we can watch him
die. Ha, Madre di dios, how I hate him!"

The Spaniard's rage had been such that his face grew fairly purple. And
he snatched up the knife and started forward toward the cadet.

"How I hate him!" he panted again.

What were the feelings of poor Clif may be imagined; he was perfectly
helpless and could only lie still and gaze into the eyes of his deadly
foe.

But there was some one else to stop Ignacio.

The sergeant caught him by the arm.

"So, no!" he cried. "Stop."

"What!" panted Ignacio. "Why?"

"They would punish me."

"But they need not know?"

"The others will tell."

"Nonsense."

"But they will."

"What? Cannot a knife kill more than one man. Carramba, I will kill all
five."

"But I was ordered to deliver them alive."

Ignacio was nearly frenzied at those objections.

"Jose" he yelled, "you are mad. We can fix it. I will fix it with
Blanco. Say they got loose, chewed the ropes, and attacked us. I will
swear they did, swear it by all the saints. And I hate that Yankee so,
Jose, that I would cut my own flesh to make the story seem more
probable. I will say we had a desperate battle--tell them how you saved
my life. And you will be promoted. Blanco will believe me, Jose."

But the Spanish soldier shook his head dubiously.

"I dare not," he said. "The captain's last words were to deliver them
safely."

"But think of the money, Jose! Think of the money!"

Ignacio fairly ground his teeth with rage over the delay; he was like a
wild man.

"Por dios," he cried, "how can you hesitate? It is the chance of your
lifetime--of your lifetime!"

The five unfortunate prisoners had not all of them understood those
words, but they had no doubt of their meaning. And they lay watching
Ignacio feverishly.

It was as if they had been charmed by a serpent, their eyes followed his
every motion. They realized that at any moment the cunning villain might
leap at them.

But the sergeant, though wavering, still shook his head.

"The men will tell," he objected.

"Here is another hundred for them!" gasped Ignacio. "It is all I have.
Por dios, what more?"

There was at least half a minute of agony after that while the man upon
whom everything depended wrestled with that temptation. It was a great
one, and Clif felt a cold perspiration breaking out all over him as he
sat and watched.

But the stolid sergeant was apparently too much of a coward to take the
risk. He said no, and Clif gave a gasp.

"Wait and see Blanco," he said. "I do not dare to let you do it."

And though Ignacio blustered and swore and pranced about like a mad man,
the soldier was obdurate.

"The risk is too great," he reiterated. "I dare not."

And so Ignacio once more slunk back into a dark corner of the car and
fell snarling to himself.

"But I'll have him yet!" Clif heard him hiss. "I'll have him yet. Just
wait till we get to Havana."




CHAPTER XIV.

BESSIE STUART.


The event to which Ignacio was looking forward with so much pleasure was
not long in taking place.

The trip by the railroad lasted about half an hour only.

Ignacio would hardly have had more than time to carry out his dastardly
purpose before the train arrived. The car came slowly to a stop and the
sergeant got up and opened the door.

"Here we are," said he. "And I am glad."

Ignacio was apparently glad, too, since he had failed in his first plan.
He sprang up eagerly and watched the removal of the prisoners.

The sergeant untied the Americans' feet and gruffly ordered them to
march. With the soldiers before and behind they were led rapidly through
the streets of Havana.

If the arrival of those prisoners in a small town created excitement,
one may well imagine that the big capital turned out a crowd to watch
them; but there was almost no demonstration against them, for the party
hurried along rapidly. And Ignacio did not try any of his tricks; he
knew that his chance would soon come, and he waited patiently.

Clif gazed about him as he walked. He was listless and hopeless, but he
could not help feeling an interest in the city he had heard so much of
and which he had been so busily helping to blockade.

But he had little chance to look about. He was marching down a long
street crowded with Spaniards of all sizes and shades. And then suddenly
before a dark, heavy-looking building, the guards came to a halt.

There was a heavy iron door in front of it that opened slowly.

"March in," said the sergeant.

And the prisoners, with bayonets at their backs, were forced up the
steps and into the building.

The door shut again with a dull iron clang that sounded like a death
knell to Clif.

Ignacio entered, too. He seemed to have the privilege of going where he
chose; the sentries who were guarding that door asked him no questions.

It was apparently some sort of a military jail to which they had been
taken. Down a long stone corridor they were marched, and then halted in
front of a door.

The sergeant entered, and Ignacio after him. The rest waited outside.

It must have been at least fifteen minutes before anything more
occurred. Then the sergeant came out, and ordered the prisoners to
enter.

Clif, as the officer, entered first, and he found himself facing a tall,
military looking Spaniard with a resplendent uniform and an air of
authority. Who he was Clif had no idea, but he was evidently in command
of the place.

He was a dark, savage-looking man, and his brows were drawn down as he
frowned upon the prisoners.

And Clif was not surprised.

"He's had Ignacio to tell him about us," he thought to himself.

Ignacio was standing just behind the officer. There was a grin on his
face and a look of delight; he rubbed his hands gleefully as he watched
what transpired.

The Spanish officer glared at his prisoners sternly. Clif's bearing was
quiet and dignified.

"So you are the officer who commanded the Yankee pigs?" growled the man.

"I am an American naval cadet," was the response.

The Spaniard said nothing more for a moment, but continued his piercing
look.

"You put on a bold front," he said at last. "You must have looked
differently when you were running away."

The remark required no answer, and got none. Clif did not mean to bandy
words with the officer; if he wanted to taunt him he was welcome to do
so.

"We treat our prisoners more politely," he thought, "but I suppose this
is the Spanish way."

Meanwhile the officer went on.

"You will be less impudent later on," he snarled, "when you learn what
is in store for you. You've no idea, I presume."

"I understood that I was a prisoner of war," was the American's quiet
answer. "And I understood that Spain considered itself a civilized
nation."

The Spaniard laughed softly.

"A prisoner of war," he chuckled. "So you really expect to be treated as
such--and after what you have done!"

"What have I done?" asked Clif.

Ignacio's eyes began to dance at that; for the officer turned toward
him.

"This gentleman," said the officer, "is one of our trusted agents. And I
have learned from him of your villainy."

Clif was not in the least surprised at that. It was just what he had
looked for.

"I should be pleased to learn also, if I may, what has this trusted
agent told you?"

As he said that, he turned toward the grinning Ignacio.

But it was the officer who continued speaking.

"I suppose you wish to deny everything," said he. "But I assure you it
will do not the least good in the world."

"I presume not," escaped Clif's lips.

The Spaniard frowned angrily, but he went on without a change of tone.

"You were captured, if I understand it truly, from a merchantman which
you ran upon the rocks in order to prevent one of our vessels from
recapturing her?"

"That is true," Clif said.

"And you must have thought it quite a smart trick! But according to this
man here, you previously had some fighting with our vessel. Would you
mind telling me about it?"

"I would not," said Clif. "We were steaming toward Key West, myself and
these four men being a prize crew from the gunboat Uncas. We were hailed
from the darkness by another vessel----"

"Ah! And what was the name of the vessel?"

"I do not know."

"Did you not ask?"

"I did. But she answered falsely. She pretended to be an American
vessel----"

The Spaniard gave a sneer.

"So that is the yarn you mean to tell," he laughed.

"That is what occurred," said Clif, quickly. "If you have heard
otherwise you have been told a lie. And my men will bear me out in the
statement."

"Indeed! I do not doubt it."

There was fine sarcasm in that tone; but Clif did not heed it.

"Would you mind telling me what this fellow Ignacio has said?" he
inquired.

"He says," responded the other, "that the vessel announced herself as a
Spaniard, and called on you to surrender. You did so; and then when the
boat's crew came aboard you shot two of them and steamed away. Is that
so, Ignacio?"

"It is," snarled the "agent." "I will take my oath upon it."

It was of course a lie; and it made Clif's blood boil. The Spanish
vessel had deceived them and tried to capture them by stealth. The men
of the Spanish boat's crew had been shot while trying to hold up the
American.

But Clif had expected that Ignacio would tell such a tale, and so he was
not surprised. The offense with which the lad found himself charged was
a terrible one, and he realized that he could be hanged for it.

Yet what was he to do?

"I fear," he said to the Spaniard, "that it will do me little good to
deny this story."

"That is true," said the other, promptly.

And his cruel eyes gleamed as he watched the prisoner.

"Do you deny the shooting?" he demanded.

"No," said Clif, "I do not."

"You find it easier to say that the men pretended to be Americans."

"I find it easier because it is truer," was the cadet's answer.

And then there were several moments of silence while the three actors of
this little drama watched each other eagerly.

Ignacio was fairly beside himself with triumph. He could scarcely keep
himself quiet, and under his bushy eyebrows, his dark eyes gleamed
triumphantly.

He had played his trump card. And he had his victim where he wanted him
at last. To watch him under the torture of his present position was
almost as good as to watch him under the torture of the knife.

For what could he do? He might bluster and protest (all to Ignacio's
glee) but nobody would believe him.

For Ignacio knew that the Spanish officer was glad enough to believe the
story the spy told him. His prejudice and his hatred of Americans would
turn the scale.

And it would be fine to punish a Yankee pig for such a crime as this.

As for Clif, he was filled with a kind of dull despair; he knew the odds
against him, and realized that his struggles would be those of a caged
animal. He had done nothing but his duty and the law of nations would
have justified him. But Ignacio's lie upon that one small point (of what
the Spanish gunboat had done) was enough to make him liable to death.

The officer seemed to realize the smallness of difference, for he turned
to Ignacio.

"Are you perfectly sure," he demanded, "that you heard our vessel
announce her identity?"

"I am, senor."

"And what was her name?"

Clif's eyes brightened at that; he thought Ignacio would be caught
there.

But the cunning fellow was prepared, and answered instantly.

"The Regina."

He had chosen the name of a Spanish gunboat he knew to be at sea; and
the ruse worked.

"What more can you expect?" demanded the officer of Clif.

And then the cadet looked up to make the last effort for his life.

"As I have told you," he said, "this fellow's story is false. And now I
will tell you why he has done it. He has long been an enemy of mine,
and he is making an effort to ruin me. I foiled him----"

"If you are going to tell me about that attempt of his to kill your
Yankee admiral," interrupted the officer, "I know it already."

And Ignacio gave a chuckle of glee.

"In fact," the officer added, "I have learned of all your adventures,
young man. And I have no doubt you consider yourself quite a hero after
what you have done against Spain. But you will live to regret it, I
think."

And Clif saw that he had nothing to gain by pursuing that tack any
further; he was silent, for he knew nothing more to do. The Spaniard
went on:

"I know also of another affair of yours," he added. "It seems that your
pig government sent a naval officer over to see that bandit robber
Gomez. And our friend here, Ignacio, was leading him into our camp. I
believe that was it, was it not, Ignacio?"

"It was, senor, and this Yankee here met us----"

"And wounded you and rescued the officer, with the aid of some of the
robber's men, and that girl you told me about."

"Exactly," said Ignacio.

"What was her name?" the other continued. "Stuart, I think. We will soon
manage to stop her tricks, I fancy."

Clif had been listening to their conversation without any particular
interest. But suddenly as he heard that last speech his face flushed
crimson and he half staggered back.

"Bessie Stuart!" he gasped, under his breath.

The Spanish officer was looking at him and he laughed as he saw the
American's thunderstruck expression.

"Ha! ha!" he chuckled, "so you are interested in her, are you? A
sweetheart, perhaps, hey?"

Clif did not answer that; he was staring at the man in horror. Stop
her! What in the world could he mean? What could he know about Bessie
Stuart?

The girl was a dear friend of Clif's who had come to Cuba to hunt for a
relative of hers.

Clif had left her under the protection of Gomez; and that was the last
he had heard of her.

And here was the brutal Spaniard mentioning her. How had he and how had
the villainous Ignacio learned about her?

It was small wonder that Clif started back; Bessie Stuart was the
dearest friend he had.

Meanwhile the Spaniard was leering at him.

"The Yankee pig seems worried," he said. "If that girl is his
sweetheart, he did not do wisely to leave her with the bandit Gomez. Did
he, Ignacio?"

"No, senor," was that person's grinning response.

"For she will soon be somebody else's sweetheart," chuckled the other.

That was too much. Clif had held himself back, for he did not wish those
cruel men to know he could torment him.

But at that last remark he could no longer restrain his anxiety. He
sprang toward the Spanish captain with a pleading look on his face.

"Tell me!" he cried. "Tell me--where is she?"

The other's lip curled sneeringly as he stared at him.

"You are very much interested," said he. "Well, to be sure, the girl is
pretty--pretty as I ever saw, unfortunately for her. But you may see her
again. I expect--she is likely to be in the same prison with you."

Every drop of blood left Clif's face at those terrible words. Bessie
Stuart in prison!

"Merciful providence!" he gasped.

And then once more he sprang toward the Spaniard, a look on his face, a
look of agony that would have touched a heart of stone.

"For Heaven's sake, sir," he gasped, "tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"Is she in Havana?"

The Spaniard laughed softly.

Then he nodded toward Ignacio.

"Ask him," he said. "He keeps track of such people for us. She has been
here some time now; and people who get into our prisons don't--ha! ha!
they don't get out in a hurry, do them, Ignacio?"

"No, senor."

"And then she is very pretty, too," added the officer, with a laugh.

To the agony those remarks were raising in the mind of poor Clif those
two brutal men seemed quite insensible. Or perhaps they were teasing
him.

But if so, the officer had enough then, for he turned upon his heel
impatiently.

"Enough of this nonsense," he said. "You need not worry about your
sweetheart, for you will probably be dead by to-morrow."

And the man turned to the soldiers.

"Those four prisoners," he said, pointing to the sailors, "will be kept
here for the present. They will probably be exchanged in a few days. We
do not blame them for the crime this officer here committed. As for him,
he will probably be sent over to Morro Castle to-night."

And then the file of soldiers closed about the dazed cadet and led him
out of the room. He was scarcely able to walk by himself.

The last sound that he heard as he left the room was the fiendish
chuckle of the triumphant Ignacio.




CHAPTER XV.

IN MORRO CASTLE.


That certainly was a day of triumph for the vindictive Spaniard. Not
only Clif Faraday was made wretched, but there was his friend, too, and
each a thousand times more unhappy because of the misfortune of the
other.

Clif as he went out of that room was almost dazed; he could think of
nothing. He scarcely heard the sailors sadly bidding him good-by.

Nor did he notice anything else until he heard the clang of a door
behind him, he realized then from the darkness and silence about him
that he was alone in one of the cells of the prison.

It was not for himself that the poor cadet feared. He could have marched
out without flinching and faced a dozen rifles aimed at his heart.

But it was for Bessie Stuart, fallen into the hands of these brutal men.
The fate that was before her was enough to make Clif wish her dead.

He racked his brains trying to think of how she could have come to
Havana; could she have been captured in a battle? And what had Ignacio
to do with it?

But poor Clif knew nothing, and could think of nothing except that she
was here, and he powerless to aid her.

His own fate was terrible enough, though he hardly thought of that.

He was to be sent at night to Morro.

Many indeed were the unfortunates who had gone to take that sea trip in
the darkness and never come back--and sometimes not reached their
destination either. It was a terrible journey, that short ride across
Havana Bay.

But the cadet did not even stop to realize that. He had but one thought,
and that he kept repeating over and over to himself in a state of
confusion and despair. He never moved from his one position on the
floor; and the hours flew by unheeded.

Once and once only the heavy door of the cell was opened and that by a
man who shoved in a pitcher of water and a dish of food. He must have
thought the prisoner asleep.

And as a fact, Clif was half unconscious; he was too dazed to think of
anything. He had no hope and no chance of life, and nothing to think of
except that Bessie Stuart was captured and he could not aid her.

So the long day wore by; it was as a man waking from a deep sleep that
the wretched American looked up when the door of that cell was opened
again. He found that the hours had flown by, and that the time for the
trip to Morro had come.

If Clif had cared about anything then he would have shivered with horror
at that moment, for it was surely gruesome and uncanny enough.

Three men there were, dark, silent, shadowy figures who entered the damp
cell. The only light they had was from a dark lantern, which they
flashed upon the solitary prisoner.

They found him still lying on the floor, but he raised up to look at
them, his haggard, tortured face shining white in the rays of the
lantern.

"Get up," commanded one of the men, in a low, muffled voice. "Get up."

The face of the speaker was shrouded in darkness, but Clif recognized
the voice, and a cold chill shot over him.

"Ignacio again!" he gasped.

Yes. And Clif thought that this was the last--that Ignacio had gained
his purpose. The task of murder was left to him.

But there was no chance of resistance. Clif felt the cold muzzle of a
revolver pressed to his head, and so he put the thought away.

One of the men snapped a pair of handcuffs about his wrists, as if to
make sure of him in case the ropes were not strong enough. And then one
of them seized him by each arm and Ignacio stepped behind with the
lantern.

And so out of the cell they marched and down the long corridor and out
of the building into the open air.

Clif had chance for but one deep breath of it. A moment later he was
shoved into a wagon that was in front of the door.

There he was seated between one of the men and the chuckling Ignacio.
The other man was driving and they rattled off down the street.

Where they were going the unfortunate victim had no idea. Perhaps to
some lonely spot where Ignacio could torture him to his fiendish heart's
content! But there was no use in making an outcry.

And Clif realized it and sat perfectly silent. He would give his enemies
no more satisfaction than he could help.

Clif did not think that it could be the trip to Morro that was before
him; it was too early for such a deed of darkness. If he were dropped
overboard upon the way some one might see it.

But as it actually happened, Morro was his destination. And he really
reached Morro, too. Perhaps the city jail was not considered strong
enough for such a villain as he.

And the carriage stopped at a wharf. A small launch was waiting there,
and the party boarded her and were swept across to the other side in a
very short while.

So in a short while the walls of Havana's strongest dungeon shut upon
Clif Faraday. He was a prisoner in Morro, famous or infamous, for its
deeds of horror.

For it was in this place, as Clif knew, that all the torture and cruelty
of the Spanish nature had been wreaked upon the unfortunate Cubans or
Americans who fell into the hands of Weyler. It was here that Ruiz had
been murdered, and hundreds of wretches besides--their name and fate
being hidden forever by the walls of that horrible place.

And Clif was going then under the guidance of Ignacio. It was plain that
the fiendish man had secured his purpose, for he was in command of the
little party. And it was his to decide what was to be done with Clif.

How the man had secured that privilege from the authorities Clif could
not hope to know. That he had gotten it as a reward for some deed of
darkness he did not doubt.

Perhaps it was for capturing Bessie Stuart, was the thought that flashed
over the lad.

Again when the black, silent walls of Morro loomed up before them and
the great gate opened nobody asked any questions of Ignacio. He showed a
note, and it passed him from sentry to sentry; and the party passed down
a flight of stairs into a cold, damp, stone corridor black as night.

Poor Clif could not help but think of his own fate then. Ignacio's
cruelty and hatred were such that no torture would be terrible enough
for him. And he seemed to have his prisoner entirely to his own
discretion.

The great vault through which they were going echoed dimly to the
footsteps of the party. They seemed to be down in a sort of a cellar,
and they were winding their way through secret passages in almost
absolute darkness.

But Ignacio knew the way--probably the fellow had been in those gloomy
dungeons before.

He stopped suddenly and flashed the lantern upon a rusty iron door. It
was solid and heavy, but Ignacio took a key from his pocket and unlocked
it.

It swung back, creaking dismally upon its hinges. And Ignacio flashed
the light of his lantern in.

He staggered back quite white with fright as he did so. For there was a
series of thumping, shuffling sounds, and a shrill noise that made his
blood run cold.

But in a moment he again stepped forward, laughing under his breath.

"Por dios!" he exclaimed. "The rats! They must be hungry!"

And he stepped into the room. His foot splashed into a small puddle of
water on the reeking, earthen floor. But he pressed on, flashing his
lantern about the granite walls.

It was a tiny black cavern into which he had come.

There was a stone bench at one side of the horrible place, and in the
wall by it a heavy ring and a thick iron chain.

It was but a minute more before Clif's ankles were locked firmly in the
ring, and then he was utterly helpless.

For but a moment Ignacio stood looking at him, flashing the lantern full
in his face. And then he turned and motioned to the two men.

Without a word they faced about and stole away. They went out of the
door, and Ignacio, trembling all over with his fiendish eagerness, shut
the great iron barrier and locked it.

And then with a hoarse cry of rage he faced about.

Clif Faraday was alone with his deadly and merciless foe!




CHAPTER XVI.

IN THE DUNGEON VAULTS.


Ignacio was a horrible object to contemplate at that moment, and it was
but little wonder that Clif turned sick and faint as he watched him.

The man seemed fairly turned into a devil then. He seemed insane. He was
alone, absolutely alone, with his victim. And no one under heaven could
stop him. He had the key himself! And he had his prisoner iron-bound and
helpless!

For several moments the man fairly danced about the place, yelling as if
to prove to his hated foe that there was no care for anything any more.

And then suddenly he made a leap at him.

He crouched in front of him until his gleaming eyes shone into his face,
and his hot breath could be felt. His claw-like fingers he seemed
scarcely able to keep away from Clif.

"Yankee!" he hissed, in a wild voice. "Yankee, do you know where you
are?"

The fiendish man saw the white look on his victim's face; and he
laughed.

"You do know!" he cried. "You do know! Ha! ha! You are in Morro, deep in
the lowest vault! And no soul can come near you--near you--hear me?"

He struck him in the face as if to draw his attention.

"Listen; yes, stare at me! I don't wonder you quake. You have defied
me--ha, ha! You have ruined all my plans, but I've got you now. And, oh,
how I will pay you back, how I will twist you and tear you! You shall
pay for everything. And you may shriek and scream and no one will know
it more than if you did not. Listen!"

And again from sheer bravado Ignacio raised his voice and shouted. The
sound died in the grave-like cell--the granite and the iron shut it in.

"You see!" panted Ignacio. "Not a soul heard! And you are mine. Ah, they
hate you and they like me, for I told them about that girl. Ha, ha! You
wince!"

Ignacio's face was almost touching Clif's as he hissed that.

"You can't get away!" he yelled. "And, oh, the things that I shall do to
you! I've got instruments up stairs to tear you to pieces, burn your
eyes out--but never kill you, oh, no! And all night you will scream, and
all to-morrow, if I choose. And I will watch you--I and the rats. And
the rats will eat you, too!"

As if to add horror to the devil's gleeful statement, a huge slimy rat
ran across Clif's body just then; it made him shiver all over.

And Ignacio danced about as he saw him.

"Ha, ha!" he cried. "You begin! But wait till I start--wait till you
begin to feel some agony--till I begin to tear your eyes out! Then will
you yell? When I get through with you--ha, ha!--when you are dead,
perhaps weeks from now, you won't mind the rats any more! You may stay
in here in this grave for the Yankees to find if they capture Morro as
they say they will. Oh, I will make it a sight for them!"

Clif could not have stood the strain of that horrible ordeal much
longer; he would have fainted away.

But then the fiendish Spaniard's impatience got the better of him. And
he turned and crept toward the door again.

"I will get the instruments," he whispered, hoarsely. "The torture
instruments. Santa Maria, what things they are! And how you will
shriek!"

A moment later he turned the key and stepped out. He shut the door and
locked it. And Clif was left alone in all the blackness and horror of
that slimy place.

Never as long as he lives will he forget the agony of that long wait. He
sat straining his ears and listening for the first sign of the fiend's
return. He knew that he might come back any instant and begin his
horrible, merciless tormenting.

Clif knew that man for a devil incarnate. He would sooner have looked
for mercy in a hyena.

For Ignacio was of the race of the Inquisition; and of the horrors of
the Inquisition this was a fair sample.

The wretched American knew that he was alone and that he could look for
no rescue. He was buried in the very centre of the earth--or the centre
of hades.

And his cries would be heard only by Ignacio.

Clif knew also that the frenzied villain would make haste, that he would
come back panting and eager. Appalled, half dazed, he sat and listened.

The first thing he would hear would be the grating of the key; and then
would come horrors inconceivable.

Seconds were years at that time. Clif thought that his hair would turn
white from the suspense.

And then suddenly he gave a gasp.

There he was!

Yes, the key was sliding in. And now it was turning!

And then slowly the door was opened--groaning and creaking.

Clif imagined the dark, crouching figure. He had left the lantern behind
while these deeds of darkness went on.

The tomb-like cell was absolutely black, and Clif could not see one
thing. But he heard the door shut, heard the key turned. He shivered as
in an ague fit.

Above the noise of the scampering rats he heard a soft, stealthy
footstep as the man crept across the floor.

And then came the scratching sound of a hand running along the wall. He
was feeling for him!

And a moment later Clif gave an involuntary cry as he felt the hand
touch his face.

Perfectly motionless and paralyzed he sat and fancied what might be
going on in the blackness after that. He felt, the hand pass downward
along his body, felt it fumbling at the manacles that bound his ankles
to the wall of the cell.

Then to his surprise, his consternation, he heard a key softly turned.

What happened then almost took away his breath.

The iron fell off.

He was loose!

"Can he be going to take me elsewhere?" Clif gasped.

But he nerved himself for one thing; gathered his muscles for it. Before
Ignacio secured him again he would get a kick, one that would almost
kill him.

Eagerly Clif waited, to see what would happen next.

But what did happen was more startling and incredible yet; he could
scarcely believe his senses.

For he felt the hands running down his arm. They fumbled at his wrists
for an instant.

And then with a clatter the handcuffs dropped to the ground!

"Merciful heavens!" Clif thought to himself. "Can he be insane?"

For a moment he actually thought so; then it flashed over him that
perhaps the fiend was torturing him with the most horrible of all
tortures--hope.

"He'll wish he hadn't!" Clif gasped, as he braced his muscles.

But that was not the true solution of the mystery; there were stranger
things yet stranger and stranger.

The only things that bound Clif now were the ropes that had held his
wrists at first. He tugged at them, but in vain.

There was a moment's silent pause. And then to Clif's unutterable
consternation he heard another sound, a sound from across the room--a
low, grating sound!

It left him breathless.

Some one else was coming into the cell!

And with one rush the true state of affairs swept over Clif.

"This isn't Ignacio!" he panted.

And a moment later he received proof positive of that fact. For again
the hand stole down his arms and there came a couple of quick slashing
cuts that hurt his wrists more than the ropes.

But seconds were precious then. In one of them Clif's hands were free.

And his pulses leaped as he felt the knife thrust into his palm. He
clutched it, and he heard one word whispered--in English:

"Fight!"

And then the dark figure stole swiftly over to the other side of the
cell. It was at the same instant that the door was opened and the light
of a lantern flashed in.

It was Ignacio returning!




CHAPTER XVII.

OUT OF THE DUNGEON.


The furious Spaniard came in like some wild beast, fairly gnashing his
teeth and snarling to himself in his rage.

Clif had but a moment, but he was quick to think; he sprang back to his
old position, slipping his feet into the iron ring and putting his hands
behind him.

And Ignacio never noticed any difference, in fact he did not look at
Clif until he had set down the lantern and shut the heavy door.

He turned the key again and then faced about; touching low and muttering
to himself, he stole swiftly across the floor.

And his gleaming eyes flashed into Clif's face.

"Yankee!" he hissed, "I am back. Do you hear me? Ha, ha!"

As if to make sure that he heard him he struck him once more across the
face.

"Listen!" he cried. "Ha, ha!--and tremble."

Clif's blood rose at that blow, but he held himself back and watched and
waited.

That was a moment of peril for the treacherous Spaniard; what would have
been his terror may be imagined, had he known the victim into whose eyes
he was glaring was clutching in one hand a sharp knife, ready at any
instant to plunge it into him.

But the fellow had no idea of his peril; he was at the very height of
his triumph and his dark, beady eyes gleamed ferociously out of the
shadows of that damp and silent vault.

But he must have noticed that some of the color had come back into
Clif's face.

"You are still defiant," he cried. "You still do not tremble. But
wait--wait till you begin to feel what I have for you. Did you see those
iron things I brought in? Ha, ha! There is one I will fasten about your
forehead and draw it tight till your very brain bursts. And then will
you like it? Hey? Will you turn pale then? Will you scream? Ha, ha!--and
I shall dance around you and watch you. Will you be sorry you interfered
with me then?"

Ignacio might have taunted his victim that way for hours, but he was too
eager and impatient. He whirled about and sprang toward the door.

"Santa Maria!" he panted. "I will get it! I will begin! I must hear him
yelling!"

And he snatched up something from the floor and taking the lantern in
his other hand bounded back toward Clif.

"Are you ready?" he exclaimed. "Yankee pig, begin to scream!"

And he flashed the lantern's light upon him.

That was the crisis of the situation; for as the Spaniard looked he made
the appalling discovery that his victim's feet were untied.

And he staggered back, dazed.

"Por dios!" he gasped.

And that exclamation was his last sound.

Clif had nerved himself for the spring; for he knew that Ignacio might
have a revolver and that no risks could be taken.

But at that instant a dark, shadowy form rose up behind Ignacio.

And one of his own iron instruments was raised above his head. It came
down with a hissing sound, and then a heavy thud.

And Ignacio dropped without a groan, without even a quiver. He lay
perfectly motionless. His villainy was at an end.

Clif had sprung up as he saw that, and he gave a gasp of joy. Then he
sprang toward his deliverer.

The shadowy stranger took no notice of him at first, but stooped and
picked up the lantern, turning the light of it upon Ignacio.

The villain's face was fixed in a look of horror; it made both Clif and
the stranger shudder.

The latter regarded it for a moment silently. The cadet could not see,
but he was fingering a knife, as if undecided what to do.

Who his mysterious deliverer was Clif had no idea. The single ray from
the lantern did not furnish light enough for him to see anything; and
the person had spoken but one word--"Fight."

But the cadet's heart was full of gratitude; he sprang toward the
stranger.

"Who are you?" he cried. "I owe my life to you--let me thank you!"

But the other motioned him back, and then for a few moments there was a
silence, while both stared at Ignacio's silent form.

When the stranger moved it was to point toward the door.

"Go," said he to Clif, in a low, whispering voice. "Go; we will leave
him here."

And with that the mysterious person unlocked the great iron barrier and
followed Clif out. The door clanged upon that ghastly scene, and Clif
Faraday gave a sigh of relief.

Yet there was so much before him that he soon forgot that hideous
nightmare.

For where was he going? And who was this stranger? And why had he
rescued him? And what did he mean to do to Clif?

Nothing could be learned in that dark corridor, for Clif could see no
more there than inside of the room. But the stranger stumbled on and
Clif followed.

They came to an iron ladder, leading up to the floor above. Up that the
man went, the cadet following; that took them to another long stone
passage, dark as ever.