shed open,
and a man entered. He was young; his face was frank and open, and he
had fine dark eyes. He was in undress uniform, and I judged, rightly
as it turned out, that he was a Spanish officer. Seeing me looking at
him, he crossed to the bed, and exclaimed in the Spanish tongue, "Are
you better this morning?"

I nodded and smiled, but could not speak--my throat hurt me so.

"All right!" he cried gaily. "Don't worry; I understand," and at that
he went out, coming back presently with the military doctor.

Now I had no cause, then or afterwards, to love the Spaniards; but I
hold it fair to give even an enemy his due, and it is only just to say
that this young officer, Captain Santiago Mariano, treated me royally.
In a sense I owed my life to him, and I have never forgotten his
kindness.

As my strength returned he often sat with me, talking of the wreck,
from which I was apparently the only one rescued. Three men, he said,
had been washed ashore, but they were all dead. Two were ordinary
sailors, and from his description I easily recognized the third as
Montevo, the skipper.

There was a rumour, the young officer continued, that a man had been
picked up by some Indians further along the coast; but no one really
knew anything about it, and for his part he looked on it as an idle
tale.

There was small comfort in tills; yet, against my better judgment, I
began to hope that Jose had somehow escaped from the sea. He was a
strong man and a stout swimmer, while for dogged courage I have rarely
met his equal.

One morning Santiago came into my room--or rather his--with a troubled
expression on his face. I was able to walk by this time, and stood by
the little window, watching the soldiers at exercise in the courtyard.

"Crawford," said he abruptly, "have you any reason to be afraid of
General Barejo?"

Now, until that moment I had not given a thought to the fact that in
escaping one danger I had tumbled headlong into another; but this
question made me uneasy. As far as safety went, I might as well have
stayed at my mother's side in Lima as have blundered into a far-off
fortress garrisoned by Spanish soldiers.

"I ought not to speak of this," continued Santiago, "but the warning
may help you. Did you hear the guns last night?"

"Yes," said I, wondering.

"It was the salute to the general, who is inspecting the forts along
the coast."

"I have heard my father speak of General Barejo."

"Well, after