"But, my young friend, you have already travelled far to-day and are exhausted." "I still have some strength left." "Night is upon us, and the trails are very dangerous." "There is a young moon, and you will furnish reliable guides," replied Ridge, smiling. "If I should not furnish them?" "Then I would set forth alone." "You are determined, then, to proceed at once?" "I am, sir, unless detained by force." "Ah, heavens! These Americans!" cried the General, with an air of resignation. "They will leave nothing for to-morrow that may be squeezed into to-day. They know not the meaning of 'manana.' Ever impatient, ever careless of consequences, and yet they succeed. Can it be that theirs is the way of wisdom? But no, it is their good fortune, what they call 'luck.' Yes, senor, it shall be as you desire. In an hour all shall be in readiness for your departure." "Couldn't you make it half an hour, General?" asked Ridge, with an audacity that drew forth only a grunt from the Cuban leader. So it happened that in something less than an hour from the time of this important interview our young American, well fed, and provided with a pass through the Cuban lines for himself and one friend, was retracing his steps down the northern slope of the Sierra Maestra. He was mounted on a raw-backed but sure-footed Cuban pony, and escorted by half a dozen ragged cavalrymen. They had barely started before he was thankful that he had not attempted to make the journey unguided; nor had they gone a mile before he knew that he could never have accomplished it alone. Often he found himself traversing narrow trails on the brink of black space where a single misstep would have brought his career to a sudden termination. Again he passed through gloomy tunnels of dense foliage, slid down precipitous banks, only to plunge into rushing, bowlder-strewn torrents at the bottom, and scramble up slopes of slippery clay on the farther side, All this was done by the feeble and ever-lessening light of a moon in its first quarter, and as it finally sank out of sight the leader of the escort called a halt, declaring that they could not move another rod before daybreak. Thus Ridge was forced to take a few hours of rest, and so exhausted was he that his companions had difficulty in rousing him at dawn. Again they pushed forward, shivering in the chill of early morning, and blistered by the sun's fervent heat a few hours later, until ten o'clock found them on the grass-grown highway leading from Santiago to Bayamo, and a few miles west of Enramada. Here, as Ridge believed himself to be well in advance of his comrade, he decided to await his coming. At the same time he sent one of his escort into Enramada to discover if Lieutenant Navarro had by any chance reached that place, and to arrange for fresh mounts. Then he threw himself down in the scant shadow of a thorny bush for a nap.