tatue of
the famous _Libertador_, he watched the passing crowds. From time to
time his glance strayed over toward the Cathedral. Once he rose, and
started in that direction; then came back and resumed his seat. It was
evident that he was driven hard, and yet knew not just what course to
pursue.

Finally he jumped to his feet and went over to a little cigar store
which had caught his eye. He bent over the soiled glass case and
selected several cigars from the shabby stock. Putting one of them
into his mouth, he lighted it, and then casually nodded to a
powerfully built man standing near.

The latter turned to the proprietor and made some comment in Spanish.
Hitt immediately replied to it in the same tongue. The man flushed
with embarrassment; then doffed his hat and offered an apology. "I
forget, senor," he said, "that so many Americans speak our language."

Hitt held out his hand and laughed heartily at the incident. Then his
eye was attracted by a chain which the man wore.

"May I examine it?" he asked, bending toward it.

"_Cierto_, _senor_," returned the man cordially. "It came from an
Indian grave up in Guamoco. I am a _guaquero_--grave digger--by
profession; Jorge Costal, by name."

Hitt glanced up at the man. Somehow he seemed to be familiar with that
name. Somewhere he seemed to have heard it. But on whose lips?
Carmen's? "Suppose," he said, in his excellent Spanish, "that we cross
the _Plaza_ to yonder wine shop. You may be able to tell me some of
the history of this interesting old town. And--it would be a great
favor, senor."

The man bowed courteously and accepted the invitation. A few moments
later they sat at a little table, with a bottle between them,
commenting on the animated scene in the street without.

"Peace will be concluded to-day, they say," reflected Hitt, by way of
introduction.

"Yes," returned the man grimly, "there is but little more blood to
let. That flows to-morrow."

"Political agitators?" Hitt suggested.

The man's face darkened. "Only one," he muttered. "The other is--"

He stopped and eyed Hitt furtively. But the American manifested only a
casual interest.

"Their names?" he asked nonchalantly.

"They were posted this morning," said the man. "Amado Jesus Fanor and
Jose de Rincon."

Hitt started, but held himself. "Who--who are they?" he asked in a
controlled voice.

"A liberal general and an ex-priest."

"Ex-priest?" exclaimed Hitt.

The man looked at him wond