d then--"

"And then!" said Pablo, grinning from ear to ear; and he drew his
machete and went through an expressive pantomime which, if carried out,
would certainly have left very little of Gringo or any one else.

"Is your post near here? show it! The senorita would like to see how a
Cuban scout lives."

Pablo, a man of few words, gave a pleased nod, and scuttled away through
the bush, beckoning them to follow. Rita, stepping carefully along,
holding her brother's hand, kept her eyes on the scout for a few
moments; then he seemed to melt into the rest of the grass, and was
gone. A few steps more, and they almost fell over him, as his black face
popped up again, shaking back its grassy fringes.

"Behold the domicile of Pablo!" he said, with a magnificent gesture.
"The property, with all it contains, of the senorita and the Senor
Captain Don Carlos."

Brother and sister tried to look becomingly impressed as they surveyed
the domain. Close under a waving palm-tree a rag of brown canvas was
stretched on two sticks laid across upright branches stuck in the
ground. Under this awning was space for a man to sit, or even to lie
down, if he did not mind his feet being in the sun. A small iron pot,
hung on three sticks over some blackened stones, showed where the
householder did his cooking; a heap of leaves and grass answered for bed
and pillows; this was the domicile of Pablo.

Breaking a twig from a neighbouring shrub, the scout bent over the pot,
and speared a plantain, which he offered to Rita with grave courtesy.
She took it with equal dignity, thanking him with her most gracious
smile, and ate it daintily, praising its flavour and the perfection of
its cooking till the good negro's face shone with pleasure.

"And you stay here alone, Pablo?" she asked. "How long? you are not
afraid? No, of course not that; you are a soldier. But lonely! is it not
very lonely here, at night above all?"

Pablo spread out his hands. "Senorita, possibly--if it were not for the
crabs. These good souls--they have the disposition of a Christian!--sit
with me, in the intervals of their occupations, and are excellent
company. They cannot talk, but that suits me very well. Then, there is
always the chance of some one coming by--as to-day, when the Blessed
Virgin sends the senorita and the Senor Don Carlos. Also at any moment
the devil may send me a Gringo; their scouts are as plenty as scorpions.
No, senorita, I am not lonely. It is a fine