railing vines and plunging
head on into thickets. Still they did not come upon the glade from which
they had so unwisely strayed.

At last, convinced that they were not proceeding in the right direction,
they stopped and tried again to figure out the position of the camp. It
was useless. They were now hopelessly lost. Harry looked up at the sun
anxiously. It was getting low.

"It looks as if you and I were in another scrape, Bert," he said, trying
to smile.

"We might wander for days without getting out of this labyrinth."

"It's not so bad as that. We can get into the open all right by simply
following the mountain down. But I do not know what good that would do
us, for we could never find the pass through which we came."

"No, and then there are the Spaniards."

"Well, I suppose the Spaniards are a pretty serious proposition to
Washington, who is their natural enemy, but I do not think they would do
us much harm. We're American citizens, you know."

"They are not looking for American citizens out here, and we should have
a hard time explaining. We couldn't say we came on the _Mariella_."

"No, that would hardly do. Still, we have not done anything to injure
Spain, and we were certainly unwilling passengers on the _Mariella_. I
do not see how they can do anything very disagreeable."

"Judging from what Captain Dynamite says, they are inclined to consider
every one except a Spaniard as an enemy and a Cuban sympathizer."

"Well, we've got to take some sort of a chance, so we might as well
shout."

"All right, both together."

They sent up a "holloa" that rang through the trees.

"Mason--Washington," they shouted. "Answer. We have lost you."

Away in the distance they heard a faint answering call. In their efforts
to retrace their steps they had wandered still further from their
companions. They could not distinguish the words of the reply, but the
sound gave them the direction, and with glad hearts they set off.

Suddenly they heard a crackling in the bushes behind them.

"Quien Vio?" called a voice. Their hearts sank within them. Turning
quickly, they looked into the muzzles of four rifles.

"Gee, it's the Spaniards at last," whispered Bert. "Still I don't know
but I had rather see them than no one. It was getting mighty lonesome."

"They may be more of Morgan's men," said Harry.

"By jove, that's so. Let's try the countersign on them."

"Don't," commanded Harry, quickly, catching his arm. "Suppos