A little gleam crept into the man’s dark eyes. “One walks fast when he is eager for vengeance,” he said. “I had a little wine‐shop, and a comrade who I trusted, four days ago. Comes a column of Candotto’s Peninsulares, and there is an asking of questions of the Alcalde, who is not a friend of mine. Andres, it is discovered, has smuggled rifles to the friends of liberty in the mountains.” Maccario made a little gesture. “It went hard with your friend?” “He died with a jibe at Candotto, who would discover where our comrades were. The wine‐shop is a heap of ashes now, but that night the friends of liberty came out from the barrancos and crept in upon Brena Abajo.” “They drove the soldiers out?” “No,” said the man very quietly. “The Peninsulares fought well. There are many dead patriots in the streets of Brena Abajo, and only Candotto’s men left to bury them.” Maccario straightened himself suddenly in his chair. “It was a strong column?” “No, señor. Four companies only. It seems Morales had sent for them.” Maccario turned to Appleby. “Now we know why Morales, who does nothing without a motive, was waiting. Well, they will march slowly, fearing another attack, with a section or two thrown forward in case there were friends of ours waiting them among the cane. The Colonel Candotto would, however, send messengers to Morales.” The man laughed in a curiously grim fashion. “Then they would never reach him. The paths are watched, and the friends of liberty are bold now there is to be war with America.” “I think our friend is right,” said Maccario, who stood up with a little smile. “The service he has done us will be remembered in due time. Señor, the major‐domo whom you will find below will give you food and show you where you can sleep.” The man went out, and Appleby glanced at his comrade with a little flush in his face. “I think our time has come,” he said. Maccario’s dark eyes sparkled. “We march in an hour. Candotto’s men will march circumspectly, and lie behind the walls of an aldea at night. When they reach Santa Marta it will be to‐morrow evening, and they will not find Morales then.” “No,” said Appleby. “I think we can get in, but it will be a risk. It would have been certain in another week or two. We were growing stronger every day.” Maccario smiled dryly. “There are times when one cannot wait too long, my friend.” He went out upon the veranda, a man called out sharply in the shadows below, there was a hum of voices, and dim figures swarmed into the patio. Then there was a tramp of feet and a jingling of steel, lights flashed in the windows, and Appleby, slipping clear of the bustle, entered Tony’s room. He lighted the little lamp, and then sat down on the bed. Tony lay close beside him sleeping quietly, and Appleby felt a curious little thrill as he looked down on him. The man had wronged him grievously, but the bond which had grown strong in happier days bound them together still.