-soldiers do not dine at the Hotel
Royal, one must observe. May I offer the senorita a bit of this
excellent beef? This has not fallen down at all, or at most but once,
one little time."

Rita thanked him, but was not hungry. At least she would have a cup of
_guarapo_, the hospitable cook begged; and he hastened to bring her a
cup of polished cocoanut shell, filled with the favourite drink, which
was simply hot water with sugar dissolved in it. Rita took the cup
graciously, and drank to the health of the camp, and to the freedom of
Cuba; the cook responded with many bows and profuse thanks for the
honour she had done him, and the brother and sister passed on.

"There are some good bananas near here," said Carlos; "little red ones,
the kind you like, Rita. I'll fill a basket for you to take with you;
Don Annunzio's may not be so good."

They were making their way through a tangle of tall grass and young
palm-trees, when suddenly Rita stopped, and laid her hand on her
brother's arm.

"Look!" she said. "Look yonder, Carlos! The grass moves."

"A snake, perhaps," said Carlos; "or a land-crab. Stand here a moment,
and I will go forward and see."

He advanced, looking keenly at the clump of yellowish grass that Rita
had pointed out. Certainly, the grass did move. It quivered, waved from
side to side, then seemed to settle down, as if an invisible hand were
pulling it from below. Carlos drew his machete, and bent forward;
whereupon a loud yell was heard, and the clump of grass shot up into the
air, revealing a black face, and a pair of rolling eyes.

"What is it?" cried Rita, in terror. "Carlos, come back to me! It is a
devil!"

"Only a scout!" said her brother, laughing. "One of our own men on
outpost duty. Have peace, Pablo! your hour is not yet come."

"_Caramba!_ I thought it was, my captain!" said the negro scout,
grinning. "Better be a crab than a Cuban in these days."

He was a singular figure indeed. From head to waist he was literally
clothed in grass, bunches of it being tied over his head and round his
neck and shoulders, falling to his thighs. A pair of ragged trousers of
no particular colour completed his costume. A more perfect disguise
could not be imagined; indeed, except when he lifted his head, he was
not to be distinguished from the clumps and tufts of dry grass all about
him.

"Pablo is a good scout!" said Carlos, approvingly. "No Gringo could
possibly see you till he stepped on you, Pablo; an