and
then everything was ready for the start.

Clif watched anxiously for one thing; he had an idea that his deadly
enemy might not succeed in following them the rest of the journey.

But in that he soon saw that he was mistaken. Ignacio had no idea of
being foiled in his vengeance. Just before the door of the car was shut
his small, crouching figure entered.

He stopped just long enough to clinch his fist and shake it at Clif; and
then he retired into a corner to snarl angrily to himself.

A few moments later there was a creaking of wheels and the "train" had
started. The roar of the crowd died away and was succeeded by the sound
of the rapid motion.

The prisoners were on their way to Havana.

"And I wish there'd be a wreck and end us before we got there," mused
Clif.

CHAPTER XIII.

IGNACIO'S PLOTS.

For Clif Faraday had not failed to learn something of what a prisoner
might expect in Havana. A classmate of his, Vic Rollins, had spent a
couple of months there and had emerged almost a physical wreck.

And Clif could not tell how long he might have to remain. The war had
already been going on long enough for him to see that it would last some
time.

And the amount of cruelty and starvation he had before him was enough to
make the cadet tremble.

He knew that the severest privation would fall to his lot.

Ignacio could be trusted to see to that.

"I don't think they'll dare to let him kill me," the American muttered.
"But he'll probably get his satisfaction somehow."

At any rate, it was plain that the vengeful Spaniard meant to try. He
soon set to work.

That Clif understood Spanish he was well aware. But he did not seem to
mind it.

For he began a conversation with the sergeant. And he did not take the
trouble to whisper what he had to say, though one would have thought he
would not care to have so villainous a plot known to any one.

The officer in charge of the Americans was sitting near them with his
own sword lying in his lap. And Ignacio crept over to him.

"Jose," said he, "Jose Garcia, listen to me."

"What is it?"

"Jose, have you been paid your wages for the last six months?"

The soldier gazed at Ignacio in astonishment.

"Carramba! What's that to you?"

"Nothing, Jose, except that you need money, don't you?"

It was evident from the look that came over the Spanish soldier's face
that the answer he made was sincere.

"Santa Maria!" he cried. "Yes! Why?"

"Would yo