Esteban went about his plan of destroying Pancho Cueto with youthful energy and zest1. First he secured, at some pains, a half-stick of dynamite2, a cap and fuse, and a gallon or more of kerosene3; then he assembled his followers4 and led them once again into the San Juan.
This time the ride to La Joya was longer than before, and since every member of the little band was proscribed5, Esteban insisted upon the greatest caution. But there was little need of especial care, for the country was already depopulated, as a result of Weyler's proclamation. Fields were empty, houses silent; no living creatures stirred, except in the tree-tops, and the very birds seemed frightened, subdued6. It struck young Varona queerly. It was as if the whole land was in mourning; he saw nothing but blackbirds, somber-hued vultures, dismal7 Judea-birds with their ebony plumage and yellow beaks8. Far up the valley a funeral pall9 of smoke hung in the sky itself; that was where the Spaniards were burning the houses of those too slow in obeying the order of concentration.
La Joya, however, was still tenanted when early in the evening its rightful owner arrived; the house and some of its outbuildings showed lights. Esteban concealed11 his men. While the horses cropped and the negroes rested he fitted fuse and cap to his precious piece of dynamite. It was likely, he thought, that Cueto had provided himself with a body-guard, and knowing the plantation12 house as he did, he had no intention of battering13 weakly at its stout14 ironwood door while his quarry15 took fright and slipped away.
Now while Esteban was thus busied, Pancho Cueto was entertaining an unwelcome guest. In the late afternoon he had been surprised by the visit of a dozen or more Volunteers, and inasmuch as his relations with their colonel had been none of the friendliest since that ill-starred expedition into the Yumuri, he had felt a chill of apprehension16 on seeing the redoubtable17 Cobo himself at their head.
The colonel had explained that he was returning from a trip up the San Juan, taken for the purpose of rounding up those inhabitants who had been dilatory18 in obeying the new orders from Havana. That smoke to the southward was from fires of his kindling19: he had burned a good many crops and houses and punished a good many people, and since this was exactly the sort of task he liked he was in no unpleasant mood. He had demanded of Cueto lodging20 for himself and his troop, announcing that a part of his command was somewhere behind and would rejoin him later in the night.
Cueto had welcomed his visitor in all humility21; he put up the soldiers in the bate22 of the sugar-mill, and then installed Cobo in his best room, after which he ransacked23 the house for food and drink and tobacco.
Later he and the colonel sat long over their supper, for the latter's exultant24 humor continued. Cobo, it transpired25, was delighted with the new captain-general, a man of blood and iron, a man after his own heart. This Weyler, he predicted, would put an end to the insurrection; there would be no more of Campos's weak, merciful methods, which were, in reality, nothing less than encouragement to revolt. Cueto, of course, agreed.
"We're sweeping26 the country as with a broom, and already Matanzas is bulging27 with refugees," the officer told him. "They call themselves pacificos, but they carry information and aid our enemies. We'll have no more of that."
"Will it not be a great expense to feed so many people?" Cueto ventured.
"Let them feed themselves. Is it our fault that they make such measures necessary? By no means. Once we have them safe, we shall exterminate28 all whom we encounter in the country." The speaker drank deeply of Cueto's good wine and smacked29 his lips. "It's the kind of work I like. Extermination30! They have had their warning. From now on we shall spare neither man, woman, nor child. The men are traitors31, the women breed, and the children grow up."
Cueto nodded his complete approval of this program. "Oh, decidedly," said he. "This spirit of violence must be stamped out or none of us will be safe. Let me tell you I myself live in constant dread32 of that young villain33, Varona. I—hope you haven't forgotten him."
"Forgotten him?" Colonel Cobo fingered a lately healed scar which further disfigured his ugly face, then he cursed frightfully. "It's by God's mercy alone that I'm alive to-night. And I haven't forgotten the girl, either. She'll have to come in, along with the others. The boy may stay out, but she can't." He licked his lips. "Wait until I have finished with this valley. I'll drive the Yumuri next, as a hunter drives a thicket34 for his game, and nothing will slip through."
His thoughts once turned upon Rosa, the colonel could talk of little else, and Cueto realized that the girl had indeed made a deep impression upon him. The overseer was well pleased, and when Cobo finally took himself off to bed he followed in better spirits than he had enjoyed for some time. For one thing, it was agreeable to look forward to a night of undisturbed repose35. Pancho's apprehensions36 had fattened37 upon themselves, and he had been living of late in a nightmare of terror.
But it seemed to him that he had barely closed his eyes when he was awakened38 by a tremendous vibration39 and found himself in the center of the floor, undecided whether he had been hurled40 from his bed or whether he had leaped thither41. Still in a daze42, he heard a shout from the direction of Cobo's room, then a din10 of other voices, followed by a rush of feet; the next instant his door was flung back and he saw, by the light of high-held torches, Esteban Varona and a ragged43 rabble44 of black men. Cueto knew that he faced death. He uttered a shrill45 scream of terror, and, seizing the revolver which was always close at his hand, he fired blindly. Then his foes46 were upon him. What happened thereafter took but an instant. He dodged48 a blow from Esteban's clubbed rifle only to behold49 the flash of a machete. Crying out again, he tried to guard himself from the descending50 blade, but too late; the sound of his hoarse51 terror died in his throat, half born.
"Quick! Soak the bed with oil and fire it," Esteban directed; then he ran out into the hall to investigate that other shouting. He found the chamber52 whence it issued and tried to smash the door; but at the second blow he heard a gun-shot from within and the wood splintered outward almost into his face. Simultaneously53, from somewhere outside the house, arose the notes of a Spanish bugle-call.
Young Varona waited to hear no more. Nor did his men; realizing the peril54 into which they had been led, they bolted from the house as fast as they could go. There was no need for questions; from the direction of the sugar-mill came bellowed55 orders and the sound of men shouting to their horses. Evidently those were troops—and trained troops, too, for they took no time to saddle; they were up and mounted almost before the marauders had gained the backs of their own animals. There was no opportunity to choose a retreat across the fields; Esteban spurred down the driveway toward the main calzada, yelling to his men to follow him.
The approach to La Joya was by way of a notable avenue, perhaps a half-mile in length, and bordered by tall, even rows of royal palms. These stately trees shaded the avenue by day and lent it a cavern-like gloom by night. Near the public causeway the road was cut through a bit of rising ground, and was walled by steep banks overg............