“By platoon, battalion charge!” An answering yell came from Ramirez as that youth too leaped to his feet. Together they rushed down the hill-side, shouting commands to an imaginary battalion. Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! Without stopping to aim, they fired their repeating rifles through the trees as fast as they could. “Viva Cuba Libre!” they shouted in unison. Through the woods came the startled yells of the bathing Spanish soldiers, just out of range of vision. Reaching the ravine, Hal made for one stack of rifles, Juan for another. Seizing each a rifle in either hand, they commenced discharging them two at a time in the direction of the creek. “Al machete! al machete!” (To the sword!) roared Juan, keeping up a thunderous rattle of musketry. “Surround the enemy!” thundered Hal. “Give no quarter to Spaniards! Every foe killed to-day is a foe the less to meet to-morrow.” All the while the incessant banging of guns rang out. To the startled bathers by the creek it seemed as if they had fallen, naked and unarmed, into fierce, one-sided battle. “Keep a-banging and a-shouting,” muttered Hal, as he sped by Juan. Ramirez obeyed with a will, while Hal, though he still continued to yell, busied his hands by gathering up the rifles an armful at a time. There was rope around in plenty among the camp baggage. Working like a Trojan, Hal quickly had thirty of the rifles lashed upon two of the horses. Juan turned and saw with blazing eyes what his comrade had accomplished. “The Spaniards are running,” he quivered. “If it were not so, we would have them on our hands by this time.” And he worked like a beaver to help Hal lash the remaining arms upon other horses. There were many cartridge belts strewn around. These, too, were lashed across the saddles, as well as a few cases of ammunition. “Here are four less of the enemy for our men to deal with,” cried Juan, spurning with his foot the body of one of the four slain sentinels. “It was a tremendous piece of cheek,” blurted Hal, vaulting into one of the saddles, and seizing the halters of two led pack horses. “The Spaniards must still be running,” chuckled Juan. “I imagine few of them stopped for their clothes,” laughed Hal. “But mount, my friend, mount! When the enemy halt----” “It will be a half an hour before they do,” derided Ramirez. “Oh, mi amigo, you were born a master of strategy. It was magnificent--that charge of a battalion of trees--that fusilade fired by four hands!” “Into saddle! forward!” urged Hal. “It is our turn to laugh, now, but in sixty seconds it may not be. When the enemy discover the trick, rivers of blood would not satisfy them!” Smiling grimly, with a full realization of the peril, Hal Maynard urged his mount into a trot. CHAPTER IX. BATTLE IN EARNEST. “Viva Cuba Libre!” Ramirez shouted that stirring battle-cry with the full strength of his lungs.