A fine gallop it proved, too. His mount was blown before the chase was over, while had it lasted a little longer he would certainly have been taken. But of a sudden heavy musketry fire broke out from a point a little to one side. Dark figures, clad in the well-known rough uniform of Tom's guerrillas, appeared on the hillside. And then a shrill whistle sounded. It was perhaps a minute later that Tom threw himself from his horse and stood amongst his comrades. And how Jack roared with laughter, how the men grinned their delight, how Andrews, who had but just reached the party spluttered and attempted to behave as became a disciplined soldier! "Introduce me, do," gurgled Jack, seizing Alfonso by the arm and doubling up with merriment. "Miss what's-her-name, eh?" "Clifford, at your service," grinned Tom, "and don't you forget it!" "Of all the boys!" spluttered Andrews, his face red with his efforts. "I knew he had backbone, but this here's something different." "Allow me," said Jack in his most gallant manner, offering an arm. "Excuse me if I appear a little forward." "Rats!" was Tom's somewhat abrupt answer. "Let the boys fall in. We'll march at once; I've had a spree, I can tell you." It was with grins of delight and many an exclamation that his comrades listened to the tale, a narrative soon passed on by Alfonso to their following. Meanwhile Tom tore his borrowed clothing from him, donned his handsome uniform, and made ready for more active movement. "We've done a good part of our work," he said. "Now for that fellow in Oporto. Let's ride back to the camp, leaving some of our men to watch the roads near it. I'll hand my notes in to the chief of the staff, and then look into the last part of this matter. Wonder who the rogue is who's such a friend of Francisco, and sends news to the men that are enemies of his country." They might all wonder, and the reader need not feel surprised if he learns that this rascal was too clever for those who sought him. The hovel to which the man whom Tom's guerrillas had captured led them--and who had promised information in return for his life--was empty. There was no particle of evidence to prove where the rascal had flown; but careful search discovered a note hidden in a crevice of the ceiling, and when that was opened the information contained proved to be of little value. "Come to Badajoz," it said. "There ask for Juan de Milares, in the street of St. Paulo. There is still work to be done and money to be earned for the doing." "Same handwriting without a doubt," declared Jack emphatically. "The bird's flown, and Badajoz is out of the question."