“Mi amigo,” he suggested, tremulously, “suppose we stop and give them fight.” “With these horses and all these guns destined for the insurgents?” demanded Hal. “My friend--nit! We have no right to risk losing such splendid supplies.” “At least,” begged Ramirez, “let us halt and fire a half a dozen shots into them.” “Fire at unarmed men?” retorted Hal. “Not while I’m here to stop it.” “Mi amigo, you are right,” replied Juan, with an air of self-reproach. “But do not blame me. We have so much reason to hate that uniform of Spain that we cannot resist the temptation to fire upon it wherever we see it.” “I don’t blame you,” nodded Hal. “But my grievances against Spain are of such recent date that I can wait for fair fight.” No attempt was made by the Spaniards to pursue the pair across the plain. Such a chase would have been futile, anyway, for jaded men are no match for galloping horses. In another half hour the foe were left five miles to the rear. Our young friends, too, had come to the end of the plain. Before them stretched a gradual slope leading up into the hills. “I think we can halt to breathe our horses,” proposed Hal. “What do you say?” Ramirez nodding, both threw themselves out of saddle to stretch their legs. “It’s odd that we haven’t met a single passer-by,” commented Hal. “What else would you expect?” demanded the Cuban, shrugging his shoulders. “Spain has burned down all the country homes, and driven the people into the cities. Even if pacificos had the courage to remain out here in the country, on what could they subsist? There is not enough food out here to feed a rat.” “They would have almost as much to eat here as in the cities,” remarked Maynard, growing misty-eyed over the remembrance of the thousands of starving Cuban reconcentrados he had seen in Havana. “But we must go on, Juan. The more I think, the hotter my blood becomes. I shall not be happy until I stand under the Cuban flag.” Ramirez stretched out his hand, grasping our hero’s warmly. “I can never forget, mi amigo,” he murmured, huskily, “that it was you who gave me the happiness of being able to take to the long grass.” Mounting again, Hal gave the signal to go forward. Up the slope they moved at a jogging gait, being compelled once more to lead their pack horses. Hal reached the highest land just in advance of his comrade. Like a flash Maynard wheeled about. “Halt! Dismount! Don’t come to the top,” he cried. “Tether your horses--so. Follow me.” Rifle in hand, Hal led the way, Ramirez following without a word. “Look down there,” cried Hal. In a valley to the northward rested a squad of Spanish cavalry men, some twenty in number, and commanded by an officer. Ramirez looked, his eyes flashing with hate. The enemy were dismounted, with horses tethered. “We can fire now!” breathed the Cuban. “Those men are armed.” “Wait!” warned Hal. “Come here. Now look down there.”