Clif knew very well that if the enemy had any idea of how meagre were his forces they would be bolder, and instead of trying to get away would sweep down upon him with overwhelming force. He, however, was too shrewd to give them a chance of finding that out. A bold dash would keep up his "bluff," and now was the time to put it into execution. Drawing his sword, he started toward them, shouting at the top of his voice: "Up and at 'em, boys!" he roared. "Charge!" Then facing about for an instant, he added in a lower tone: "Yell like sixty!" With a wild shout, the little band rushed forward, firing their revolvers as they advanced in compact line. This bold dash had the desired effect. The enemy could be heard retreating in disorder before them. With redoubled clamor the Americans pressed forward, spurred on by the excitement of the chase. The moon at this point emerged from its retirement and showed them the demoralized ranks of the fleeing Spaniards. But, unfortunately, it also showed to such of the enemy as looked back at their pursuers, what a handful of men had caused such terror and havoc. Clif felt that his "bluff" would now be called. But the beams of the moon also showed another scene that aroused all the Americans' indignation and fairly made their blood boil with rage. In spite of the panic the Spaniards had retained hold of their prisoner. But the first sight that Clif saw as the moon shone out clear once more, was one of the Spanish soldiers deliberately placing his revolver against the unfortunate Cuban's head and sent a bullet crashing into his brain. "Treachery! base treachery!" cried Clif, beside himself with indignation and horror at the scene. "Assassination of a prisoner of war! Boys, shall we allow such a vile deed to go unavenged?" The others had also seen, and there was no need to ask the question. But the answer came prompt and without a dissenting voice: "No, by thunder! Never!" "Then at them to the death!" cried Clif, leading them on. "In the name of humanity and the sailors of the Maine!" The blood-curdling atrocity had made demons of them all, and with a hoarse shout they sprang to the charge. CHAPTER XXVI. A GAME OF BLUFF. Clif urged his little band of avengers forward with no thought of danger or of the consequences. The inhuman scene he had witnessed drove from his mind all thoughts of the flagship or the important papers he carried upon his person. Such barbarity called for vengeance, and that brave American handful of American tars meant to wreak it on their treacherous foes, or die in the attempt. "Come on!" shouted Clif, wildly. "Give it to 'em! Don't let a man escape!" A well directed volley was the answer to his command, that sent death-dealing bullets among the frightened soldiers just before them. But, unfortunately for the heroic little band, they were now fighting in the open, and their strength was known to the enemy.