times I stopped to
rest, and to wipe the sweat from my brow; twice in less than five
minutes I was obliged to sit down, and at last the pain in my foot
became so excruciating that I could struggle no further.

"It's no good!" I exclaimed; "I must stay here till the morning, at
least." And finding a kind of recess in the rocks, I crept in. Then
it occurred to me to take off my boot; so opening my knife, I hacked at
the leather till I succeeded in getting my foot free.

This, after the first sudden rush of pain, was a great comfort. I felt
easier and brighter, and lay down to sleep in a happier frame of mind,
intending to make a fresh start as soon as daylight appeared.

CHAPTER XVI.

GLORIOUS NEWS.

Many times during the night the pain and the cold wakened me; but I
contrived to get some sleep, for which I fell much better in the
morning. To my dismay, however, I found it impossible to walk; my
ankle had swollen considerably, and the pain of putting my foot to the
ground made me cry out in anguish.

Yet, unless I wished to starve, something I must do. Unbuckling my
sword, and hiding it in the recess, I began to crawl along, trailing my
injured foot carefully. It was slow work, and I felt faint and dizzy,
not only from my hurts, but also from want of food.

Feeling sure that the Spaniards had by this time retired, I ventured to
call for help, though little expecting to obtain it. I cried aloud,
both in Spanish and in the native patois, but received no answer.
Again I crawled on, but now even move slowly than at first; and when I
again tried to shout, my voice seemed weak and quavering. My strength
was nearly exhausted, when suddenly, and rather to my astonishment, I
caught sight of a man peering at me curiously from behind a rock. He
was evidently a Spaniard, and an ugly customer. He wore a long beard,
a half-healed scar disfigured one side of his face, and on his head was
jauntily set a small cap decked with gay-coloured ribbons. On his
coming forward I saw that he was dressed in the most grotesque manner,
and heavily armed.

"By St. Philip," I muttered softly, "I should have done better to give
myself up to the soldiers! Surely this fellow is the prince of
ruffians."

He stood a moment, leaning on his gun and regarding me with curiosity.

"I don't know who you are," said I irritably, "but if you have a spark
of human sympathy, you will give me what help you can."

"Are you hurt?" he asked