“It is no matter. Twenty of our men would do. But hush! There is the gleam of a soldier’s musket--a sentinel. Senor, do not make a sound that will betray us.” Forward, a foot at a time, moved the pair, while not even a blade of grass rustled under their feet. So quietly did they move, in fact, that, aided by the darkness and shadow of the grove, they gained a spot within less than thirty feet of the pacing sentinel. Halting, Ramirez looked long and anxiously at this uniformed son of Spain. When the Cuban placed his mouth close against our hero’s ear, it was to whisper: “Senor, that soldier is one whom I know, for I have long had my eyes upon him. If all goes well, we shall soon have two guns. If I am deceived, our lives are not worth a peseta. If you hesitate, go back, and I will take the chance alone.” “Go back?” whispered Hal. “Not when you go forward!” Ramirez’s black eyes danced as he nodded. Then, craning his neck forward, he whispered, sharply: “Pedro! Pedro Escarillaz!” In an instant, the sentinel halted, turning his head. “If money will do you any good, Pedro Escarillaz, come here.” Quick as a flash, the soldier’s rifle flew to his shoulder. Then, reconsidering, he walked slowly toward the grove. “Who called?” he asked. “Men who have money,” answered Juan. “If you happen to be hungry, you will be glad that we have called you.” Hal felt thunderstruck. “Is this Cuban crazy?” he wondered, hardly knowing whether to run or stand his ground. But the next second brought better counsel. Up to the present, Juan had proven himself very far removed from a lunatic. Nevertheless, Maynard felt cold shivers running up and down his spine as he realized that slight warning from this sentinel would bring the whole Spanish force down upon them. “Who are you?” whispered the sentinel, stopping squarely in front of them. He held the muzzle aimed at them, ready to fire at the slightest sign of need. Yet that muzzle wavered slightly, as if the Spaniard’s fingers, tightly gripping stock and lock, were twitching. “The Spaniard is more afraid than I am,” muttered Hal, inwardly. “I guess it’s the wrong time for me to get rattled.” Though the talismanic word “money” had brought the soldier a little off his beat, it was plain that he feared some surprise, for he not only gazed keenly at his two accosters, but tried to peer over their shoulders into the darkness beyond. “You called me?” he demanded, in a voice that could not have been heard twenty feet off. “Yes,” answered Juan, coolly. “We need your services. We can pay for them. Could you use money if you had it?” “Carramba!” muttered the fellow, his eyes gleaming. “Could I not?” “Very well, Pedro Escarillaz; we do not want much--only two rifles and a hundred cartridges.” “Carr-r-r-r-rajo!” swore Pedro, under his breath. “It is death to talk that way.” “Then you cannot serve us?” demanded Juan, in a voice that sounded all but indifferent.