The captain left the house with a light and jaunty step, yet he looked about him thoughtfully. He had not gone far when the night stillness was broken by the crack of a fire-arm not ten paces away. A bullet cut his hat. He turned quickly. Nobody was in sight. The air was thick with mist, and nobody was stirring. "Scoundrel!" cried the officer, shaking his fist at the darkness. "You shall pay dear for that--you and your people. Do you hear?" There was no answer. He walked on at a faster pace. Before the sun was up next morning the captain and his men had withdrawn from Puerto Principe. Few in the town knew that he had been there. None knew whither he had gone. It was nine o'clock on the night following the interview. A fitful wind stirred the trees that densely shadowed the Minas road. From a chink in the walls of a dilapidated house that stood back from the highway a light shone faintly, but except for the sough of the leaves and the whirring and lisping that betoken the wakefulness of insect life there was no sound. None? What was that? Down the road, from Nuevitas way, came a blowing and stamping of horses laboring through mud. The crack of light still shone, and nothing moved along the wayside. As the horses came nearer a lantern could be seen hanging from the sheep-neck of the older one, and two voices could be heard in talk,--such village gossip as farmers might exchange when the way was tiresome. The horses plodded on till they were abreast of the house, when there was a whistle; the crack of light widened, suddenly there was a rush of feet, a torch was brandished, and brown hands fell upon the bridles.