Maccario laughed softly. “They will no doubt be astonished. To them the Sin Verguenza have been as wolves, but that was the fault of Morales, who made them so. Now they are the bloodhounds who, while the household sleep in peace, keep watch in the patio. Still, the bloodhound is a beast that one would do well to beware of, my friend. Well, I will not keep the gentlemen who have honored us with their company, but there is a toast to drink, and you who have made plantations and built warehouses, and we who have marched and fought, can join in it equally. To the prosperity of Cuba!” The men rose as one, the loyalists with evident relief that nothing more had been asked of them, and as they swung, up their glasses the building rang with the shout. Then in the silence that followed the Alcalde filled his glass again. “And,” he said, “to Spain!” Maccario made him a little ceremonious inclination. “Señor,” he said, “with ten such men on the council one would have no fear concerning the prosperity of Santa Marta.” Then the citizens went out, and Maccario smiled as he turned to Appleby. “It seems that the time of the friends of liberty has come,” he said. “There will no doubt be preferment for those who have fought well, but the promise you made us was to hold only until Santa Marta had fallen.” Appleby was almost astonished to find himself troubled by a keen sense of regret. “I take it back,” he said quietly. “You will now find plenty of other men willing to take my place with the Sin Verguenza.” “It is likely, but none that one could trust so well. Still, you will not be hasty. It is a good life, Bernardino—ours of the march and bivouac. Would you be happier counting the dollars in American cities than watching the Cuban highways or lying on the hillsides by the red fires? To gain one thing one must always give up another, and would not such a man as you are prefer to decide the fate of cities and battalions than haggle over a bargain? It is command, the stress of effort, and the untrammelled joy of life, sunshine, and wine, we offer you, while one lives in bonds and sadly in your Northern cities.” Appleby sighed a little, for the temptation was alluring, but he knew the shadowy side of the life the Sin Verguenza led, and he kept his head. “I have made my decision, and the Señor Harding waits for me,” he said. Maccario smiled. “Then I shall gain nothing by objecting. After all, it is of no great importance whether a man trades as a merchant or fights as a soldier. That will be as fate arranges it for him. He is born what he is.” “The Señor Appleby will leave us?” asked one of the men. “Yes,” said Maccario, who stood up, “when it pleases him, and I think it is scarcely likely we shall sit at meat with him again. You will pledge a faithful comrade and a valiant soldier, without whom we might never have been the masters of Santa Marta.”