In their tourist costumes the four “scouts,” for such they now were, walked rapidly through the town, attracting no more attention than that bestowed on them by hordes of beggars and insistent vendors of various worthless native articles. But instead of annoying them, these rather dubious intentions delighted our party, as it was a good earnest of the effectiveness of their disguises.

After half an hour or so of walking under a broiling sun, the party began to traverse the outskirts of the city, where pigs roamed at large and naked children rolled delightedly in the gutters. Nobody made the slightest effort to molest them, and presently they reached the rear lines of the government troops entrenched about the city.

The soldiers seemed a happy-go-lucky lot.[148] Some of them were smoking yellow paper cigarettes. Here was a group throwing dice on a drum head. There was an eager, interested circle about a cock fight. In one or two places sat a forlorn figure strumming some love song on a guitar. Their tents were ragged and patched, and their arms of the kind bought at government condemnation sales.

“But they can fight like wildcats,” Stanley assured his companions.

Their road led northward from the city below, along the edge of a steep cliff covered to its summit with tropical growth of vivid, staring green. Here and there little villas set back like colored jewels in a green setting. Below, a turquoise sea dashed itself against the rocks. It was a scene that at any other time would have delighted the Dreadnought Boys, but just then their thoughts were set on other things than scenery. About two miles out they passed through the last outpost of the Costavezan troops, and presently were traversing ground which lay between the lines of the opposing forces. It was blisteringly hot.[149] None of the party noticed this, however, so intently were their minds occupied.

The main army of the insurgents lay, as they knew, across the range to the southwest of the town. The forces they were now headed for formed the victorious army of the north. It was by effecting a junction of these two forces at the very walls, so to speak, of Boca del Sierras that General de Guzman hoped to effect the capitulation of that city. What had become of the government forces, which the army before them had scattered, no one knew. It was supposed, however, that their officers were trying to reassemble their demoralized troops somewhere back in the jungles to the north.

“It wouldn’t take a large force to defend this road against an army,” observed Ned, as they pursued their way along the thoroughfare, which was in places literally hewn out of the cliff face.

“No,” agreed the midshipman, “but as I understand it the government fears that the insurgents’ navy—or rather the ships they captured from the government—may bombard the city[150] from seaward at the same time the land forces make their attack. This would inevitably accomplish its downfall.”

“Not much doubt of that,” agreed Stanley. “If only the government had some boats, they could bottle up the insurgent fleet somewhere, and then go ahead and drive out the troops all around.”

“That’s it,” assented Stark, “but at present the government doesn’t know, and can’t find out, where the dickens the insurgents have hidden their fleet. They’d give a whole lot to know, I guess.”

“I reckon so, sir,” agreed Stanley, with a short laugh.

For some ten minutes more they walked on in silence. Then suddenly around a sharp curve in the road a black object came into view.

“A gun!” exclaimed Herc.

“Guns,” corrected Ned, as his eyes fell on several more of the field pieces commanding the road from points of vantage dug out high upon the cliff side.

“No danger of the government making a sortie[151] up this road,” remarked the midshipman. “With all that artillery those fellows could hold anything.”

As they neared the first gun a young officer stepped forward briskly. Already concealed sentries had given warning of their approach.

“What do the senors wish?” he inquired politely enough, raising his hand to the peak of his red-embroidered cap.

It was evident that he took them for harmless, foolish tourists. The young officer hastened to assume the part he had decided to play. Ned could hardly suppress a grin as he listened to Midshipman Stark’s imitation of a British accent in reply.

“Just strolling around, old chap, you know,” he assured the young insurgent officer. “No harm—eh, what?”

“I suppose you know that you are within the lines of General de Guzman?” came the polite inquiry in rather astonished tones.

“No, really? By Jove, here’s luck. Always[152] wanted to see an insurgent camp, you know—eh, Archie?”

Here Stark turned to Ned, who, taken by surprise, turned red and blurted out:

“Yes, by Jove,” in accents which no self-respecting Britisher would have owned to.

“I hardly know what to do,” said the young officer hesitating. “If you gentlemen will give me your word of honor that you are non-combatants?”

“We can,” rejoined Stark, without an instant’s hesitation. He was glad that he could make the assertion without the slightest warping of the truth.

“Very well, then. If you will follow me I will conduct you to General de Guzman.”

The four Americans exchanged glances of real dismay. They had figured on the general of the insurgents being miles away with the other army. As they learned afterward, however, their bad luck had brought him to the army of the north that very morning to tender his congratulations for its brilliant victory of the day before.
 
Undesirous as they were of meeting General de Guzman, who might prove to be more astute than the young officer, there was no help for it. They were fairly in for it. With somewhat downcast faces they followed their guide past the formidable rows of artillery and within the insurgent lines. So far as they could judge it was quite as well organized and better supplied with arms than that of the government. The men, cheered by their victories, appeared, too, to be in better mood than the Costavezans. Laughter was everywhere, and a degree of order and cleanliness not often found in South American insurgent forces.

“Evidently General de Guzman is a good commander,” thought Ned.

From time to time as they passed among the troops the young officer pointed out things of interest. If he had not already been so anxious over the result of their interview with the general, Midshipman Stark’s heart would have smote him for the deception he was practicing on this kind-hearted young host.
 
“You have seen service elsewhere?” he asked, as they walked along.

“Oh, yes, senor. I was with the Spanish troops in Morocco. We had what the Yankees call a ‘hot time’ there.”

“You do not like Yankees, as you call them.”<............