They dismounted before the captain, talking with him in quick murmurs. “My colonel,” called the captain, saluting one of the mounted officers, “the scouts tell me that there are none of the enemy within forty miles.” “I do not believe there are any rebels nearer, captain,” laughed the colonel. “So let your poor fellows get some of the rest they need so badly. True, we have no breakfast to offer them, but I have caught sight of a stream through the trees. Let those who would like to take a swim.” No proposition could have met with greater favor. As with one accord, the soldiers began to move off between the trees, while the scouts cantered away. “You four,” cried the captain, selecting a quartette of his men, “will hurry up with your swim, and return here to relieve the sentinels, that they, too, may have a plunge.” With the men went their officers, nine in number. The heat of the day made cold water a luxury that could not be resisted. Down in the camp, with the horses and stacked arms, remained only the four sentinels. Even these looked wistfully through the trees as the shouts and plashing of water came to their ears. “Jupiter!” whispered Hal, his eyes beginning to sparkle. “I’m beginning to feel some of the Cuban hot blood myself.” “If we could only capture that camp!” murmured Juan, eagerly. To his intense delight, Hal made this whispered reply: “By thunder, we’ll try it, if we go under for it!” “Oh, my brave friend,” quivered Juan Ramirez, “you have spoken as our brave Gomez would speak!” For a few moments the heads of the two youths bobbed together in earnest, whispered conversation. When they had finished, Juan crept off through the bushes with the stealth of an Indian. He reached a spot twenty feet away from our hero before he halted and signaled back. Through the bushes the muzzle of Hal’s rifle protruded. As he aimed at one of the sentinels, a curious thrill swept over the American. He was about to take a life, and unfairly, it seemed, since he must fire from ambush upon an unsuspecting foe. Yet, even as he hesitated, the remembrance came back to him of the evening before, when a Spanish officer had proposed to send him over the fatal ferry to Morro Castle. The enemy would not hesitate; he must not. Besides, war consists of killing; war is gauged only by its successes. With these thoughts surging through his mind, Hal Maynard steadied both hands and vision. Crack! His rifle spoke, and the sentinel at whom he had aimed dropped and lay still. Crack! Juan had waited only for this signal. Before the first sentinel had struck the ground, the second had received his death-wound. Crack! crack! Right on the heels of the first two shots came the next pair. Before the last two sentries had time to turn, run or fire, they had met their fates. In a twinkling Hal was on his feet. The fire of battle was in his blood; the spirit of freedom possessed his soul as his voice rang out full and clear!