if it had depended on ned to speak at that instant the fate of the party would have been sealed then and there. his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. he regarded the ruddy-faced insurgent leader with a look of downright dismay. fortunately, however, midshipman stark’s presence of mind did not desert him.
“oh, i say, general, come!” he burst out, with a ghastly attempt at a laugh, “that’s a bit rough, eh?”
“hum, you sound like an englishman,” was the general’s comment. “i beg your pardon, senor, for mistaking you for a yankee.”
the detestation with which he uttered the words convinced ned—if he had, indeed, needed any convincing, that they were in as dangerous a position as could be imagined. one slip and they might find themselves with their backs against a wall, facing a row of insurgent rifles.
“if he ever speaks to me, it’s all off,” thought ned, with a groan.
but luckily the general confined his conversation to stark, who, as he went on, grew more confident.
“what seems to be the spirit of the city?” asked the general, after some questions regarding the number of ships in the harbor and so forth.
“oh, favorable, general, favorable,” responded stark confidently, feeling secure in his non-committal answer.
“you have been there long?”
“we arrived on the mail steamer yesterday, sir.”
“indeed! then you were fellow passengers with one of my most faithful followers, senor charbonde?”
“senor, i beg your pardon, i didn’t quite catch the name.”
“senor charbonde. you met him, did you not?”
“oh, yes, yes. charming chap, very. delighted to make his acquaintance, upon my honor.”
“i am glad you like him, senor, for he is here now, and you will be able to renew your acquaintance.”
had somebody stepped into the courtyard and offered him a commission as admiral of the atlantic squadron, ned could not have felt more dumfounded. of course, from what they had learned from the peons on the captured launch the night before, they knew that charbonde was in the country, but that he was so near at hand was a positive bombshell.
the blankest of blank looks passed between the dreadnought boys and stanley.
“stand by for trouble now,” whispered stanley to ned.
“the jig is up,” was herc’s contribution.
ned, true to his promise, had placed the midshipman in possession of the facts connected with[164] their knowledge of the insurgent agent, so that the general’s words were fully as disquieting to him as to the others. although there was no possibility of general de guzman’s knowing the cause of their evident perturbation, he evidently noted it, for a malicious smile curled his lips. he suddenly turned, as some footsteps sounded behind him, and a tall figure, escorting a young woman in a riding habit, appeared.
“ah, senor charbonde,” greeted the general, “some friends of yours are here.”
“friends of mine, sir?” exclaimed charbonde in an astonished tone. he dropped the young woman’s arm and came forward.
“yes. the delightful english gentlemen you met on the mail steamer.”
“i—i beg your pardon, general, i——”
“there they are, sir—there!” exclaimed the general, motioning impatiently toward the party from the beale.
“why, sir, those are not englishmen. at least, two of them are not. those two fellows there[165] are sailors off the beale—the american destroyer.”
the blow had fallen. now that it had come ned felt himself surprised at his calmness. that all was over now he felt little doubt.
“well, shooting’s a quick death,” he thought.
suddenly the voice of the general broke the tense silence.
“is this true?”
“there is no doubt of it, sir!” exclaimed charbonde, “and moreover i verily believe that providence has delivered into our hands the very men who made off with our guns last night. see!” he exclaimed, pointing at stanley’s bound wrist, which the sailor attempted to cover up too late, “that man is wounded.”
all this time the midshipman had stood motionless. not a word had passed his lips. now general de guzman turned to him with a savage look.
“what have you to say to this, mr. englishman?”
“that i am sorry i tried to take you in,” shot[166] out stark crisply. “i am an american officer, and proud of my commission.”
“so, since when has it been the duty of american officers to come skulkingly disguised within the lines of neutral forces?”
“our errand here was one of curiosity only and purely of a non-combative nature,” protested stark.
“bah! sir. bah!” exclaimed the general angrily, impatiently, “do not bandy words with me.”
he drew a whistle from his belt and blew it. instantly a score of soldiers entered the courtyard. their bayonets were fixed and their expressions fierce.
“make those men prisoners,” ordered the general in spanish.
“surely you do not intend to make captive four american citizens?” asked stark.
“i do, sir, and shall likewise call a summary court-martial to decide upon your fate.”
even the courageous stanley’s lips went white at this. a court-martial meant only one thing—a[167] mockery of trial, and then—a file of insurgents and a hasty grave.
“in that case, general,” pleaded the middy, “let these men go. i am an officer, and came here on my own responsibility. they were merely obeying orders. you cannot hold them responsible.”
“you are all equally guilty in my eyes,” was the short reply.
“but,” broke out stark desperately, “you don’t understand. you can’t. this mission of ours here has nothing to do with our government. it’s just a lark—a stupid one, i admit, but a joke nevertheless.”
“i beg to differ with you, sir. american officers are not in the habit of playing such ‘jokes,’ as you call them. you are spies, sir!”
“it’s all over,” groaned stanley. “shiver my timbers, mr. stark,” tapping his revolver, “but i’ve six bullets in here that are just itching to find their way into a south american carcass.”
“for heaven’s sake, stanley, take your hand off your revolver. you may cost us all our lives.”
“i’m afraid they’re as good as gone already, sir,” muttered the man-of-war’s man gloomily.
general de guzman seemed disinclined to continue the interview.
“take them away,” he ordered brusquely, turning away, while his spurs rang sharply on the tiled floor of the court.
ned felt desperate. had it not been for his officer’s positive order he would have suggested fighting their way out desperately. it is true they could not have gone more than a few feet before they would have been pierced with insurgent bullets, but at least they would have had the satisfaction of dying in action. suddenly the girl, a tall, slender young woman, with great masses of black hair coiled about a shapely head and large, luminous eyes, emerged from behind the palm, where she had been a silent witness of the scene. the sight of her recalled the will to ned’s mind, and gave him a sudden desperate inspiration.
in an access of bravado he hurled some sharp speech at the general.
“we know the secret of don maritano’s will!”
if ned had expected to produce a sensation he was gratified. the general wheeled with an oath, his hand on his sword hilt. for a second ned saw that it was in his mind to draw it and run the bold american through. the girl, with her lips parted and with burning eyes, gave a scream.
“the will of my father!”
“hush!” exclaimed the general. “leave us at once.”
he came threateningly toward ned. the girl retreated a few steps, but made no further effort to obey her uncle’s command.
“you insolent americano!” he exclaimed, “what did you mean by those words?”
“what i said,” shot out ned, enjoying the other’s angry perplexity and manifest uneasiness, “we know of the will.”
“good heavens, strong, what have you done?” whispered the midshipman. “what is this will?”
“it is in the possession of lieutenant timmons,[170] sir,” retorted ned, “and may become a powerful instrument in our hands.”
“i hope so, i am sure,” breathed stark, “but just at present it looks as if it was an instrument to get us into more trouble.”
for an instant general de guzman seemed puzzled how to act. he toyed with the tassels on the hilt of his sword. a perplexed, worried look played over his features. “evidently,” thought ned, “there’s some mystery connected with the will, and in some wonderful way i’ve hit him in a tender spot.”
suddenly the general spoke. he addressed charbonde.
“take these men under a strong escort to miraflores prison,” he commanded. “i will decide on their fate later.”
surrounded as they were, there was not the slightest use in making any resistance. even a show of it might have resulted fatally. our heroes therefore submitted with the best grace they could to being marched like convicted felons from the headquarters of the insurgent leader.
as they left the place and emerged into the blinding sunlight, which lay scorchingly on the camp, a figure stepped up to them. with a flash of amazement ned recognized hank harkins. the renegade american youth’s face was illumined by a malicious grin as he saw their plight.
“hullo, there!” he snarled, coming right up close to ned, “getting a taste of the handcuffs, eh? they’ll shoot you sure as time, and i’ll be there to see.”
biff!
ned’s hot temper had suffered a sudden boiling over. it was a relief to find an outlet for it. as his fist collided with hank harkins’ grin, wiping it instantaneously into nothingness, the youth stumbled backward and fell in a heap on the ground.
“hit him another for me,” grunted stanley, as he gazed with intense satisfaction on the recumbent form.
