The new cell in which the boys had been placed when the escape of Miss Juanita was discovered, looked out through its barred windows onto the main street of the little straggling town. In the distance, although the house was concealed from view by intervening buildings, they could see the American flag floating over the consulate. This outlook had afforded them some occupation during the day, and even when night fell they stood together gazing silently out into the deserted street, lighted only by the brilliant moon. They began now to feel that their position was critical, and Bert, who more easily yielded to the depressing effects of circumstances, bemoaned his fate and all the series of events that had led up to their present unenviable plight. He was inclined to blame Harry for the initial step.

"If you only hadn't taken it into your Quixotic head to try to aid Captain Dynamite, who is able to take care of himself, we might now be safe on the Mariella," he growled, "instead of waiting patiently for some one to take us out and shoot us."

"Why, Bert, old man, we've got two more days before we step out and play targets. Many things may happen in that time."

"Nothing to help us out of this scrape that I can see."

"Mr. Wyman will surely do all that lies in his power to aid us."

"Yes, but you know yourself that since Serano suspects his connection with the escape of Miss Juanita his power has been very much curtailed."

"Well, there's Captain Dynamite yet to be counted on."

"Humph, where is he and what could he do if he were here?"

"I don't know, Bert, but you can't make me believe that he would abandon us completely to our fate. It's not like him, I tell you."

"If all the hope we have is centred in Dynamite or Wyman I think it is time we began to think of doing something for ourselves."

"Sure," answered Harry in surprise, "but what under the sun can we do, Bert?"

"We might——" Bert hesitated and glanced nervously at his companion; "we might effect some compromise with Serano."

"How?" asked Harry, coldly.

"We might agree to tell him what he wants to know about how we got to the island when we can be assured that it will injure no one."

"There are two reasons why that plan would be useless. In the first place how are we going to tell when Captain Dynamite is safe, and in the second place the affair has gone so far now that I do not think Serano would be satisfied with simply that information. He is pretty well convinced that in some way we are connected with the Cuban cause."

"Oh, gee, I wish I had never gone sailing."

"That's going back a long way to make a connection between cause and effect, Bert," said Harry, who could not help smiling at his companion's hopeless view of the situation.

They were silent again for a time. Not a sound broke the stillness of the night save the regular steps of the sentinel below them. Some light clouds scurried across the moon, shutting off for a time the flood of silver light and throwing a gray shadow over the street.

"Look," said Harry, suddenly. "Didn't you see a man creeping along there?"

"Where?" asked Bert, eagerly.

"In the deep shadow close in by the wall of that house."

"I can see no one," said Bert, after straining his eyes in an effort to penetrate the darkness.

"Watch," whispered Harry. "I know I saw some one creeping along as if he did not want to be seen."

"Even if you did, what does it signify?"

"Captain Dynamite would come that way," answered Harry, confidently.

Suddenly the clouds swept on and again the street was flooded with a radiance that made the shadows cast by the walls of the houses as black as the darkest night in contrast.

"Then did you see?" asked Harry, excitedly.

Bert nodded quickly in the affirmative.

As the moon flashed out they had both seen a man dart closer into the protection of the deep shadow of the wall.

"There's another," whispered Bert, pointing out through the bars in his eagerness, to a point about ten feet beyond where the first man had appeared. "What if the guard should see them too?"

"The sentinels are on the same level and cannot see as well as we can up here. I wonder who they are. See, there is another."

"Who can they be?"

"I'll bet you a dinner when we get home that Captain Dynamite is in town."

"O, Hal, do you think we will ever get home?"

"I'm beginning to feel very sure of it. See, there are other men in the distance and all are coming toward the jail."

The prison stood in a narrow plaza or square facing the main street. Toward the dark shadow of a building that formed a corner of the square the indistinct forms of the men seemed to be making their way. The boys counted nearly a dozen, closely hugging the walls of the low houses, slip one by one into the wider shadow of the corner building. Still the regular steps of the guard below told that the mysterious gathering had not been discovered.

Presently four men emerged boldly from the shadow, and arm in arm, and with unsteady gait approached the prison. In hiccoughing tones they sang a Spanish drinking song. In the bright glare of the moonlight the boys could see that they wore the uniform of Spain.

"Pshaw," said Harry, in a disgusted tone. "They are only a lot of drunken Spanish soldiers after all, making their way back to the barracks."

Harry was keenly disappointed. He had been confident that the strange movements of the men indicated that some action was on foot which he imagined Captain Dynamite was directing.

"But where are the others?" whispered Bert. "There are more in the shadow."

"Probably waiting a chance to slip into the barracks without attracting too much attention from their officers."

The four men reeled on. The regular pacing of the sentinel ceased and he hailed the approaching quartet in a jocular way. They answered with thick tongues and coarse laughter. Presently they passed out of view of the boys, having come close within the shadow of the wall below them.

Then suddenly there was a muffled sound as of one trying to cry out with a heavy pressure on his throat, the hard breathing of men desperately struggling, and then silence.

The boys looked at one another in wonderment. What could it mean? Possibly a drunken squabble between the men and the guard. Now the slow pacing of the sentinel was resumed. Apparently the difficulty had been adjusted.

"I think we might as well get to bed," said Harry, after they had waited for ten minutes without any further developments. "There is nothing doing to-night, I guess."

As he spoke, the cry of a night bird sounded on the still air, but, strangely enough, it seemed to come from directly below their window, instead of from the air above. Almost immediately an answering call was heard in the distance, and then all was still again.

"I am not so sure, after all, that those men were Spaniards," said Harry, as he turned eagerly to the window again.

"Why?"

"Did you hear those signals?"

"I heard a bird."

"I don't think it was a bird."

"Listen; if they were birds we shall hear them again."

The boys listened patiently for several minutes, but the sound was not repeated.

"I believe they were signals, and—look—look! Isn't that Captain Dynamite himself coming out of the shadow further up the street?"

"It certainly looks like him," gasped Bert, "but who is that with him and how does he dare to walk openly in the streets?"

"It's the Spanish interpreter," whispered Harry, after a minute's inspection; "and—and Captain Dynamite, sure. Hooray."

"Don't hooray yet," said Bert, wagging his head disconsolately. "Remember there are more Spaniards in the shadow there."

"Yes, if they are Spaniards."

"And see how closely the interpreter walks. Can Captain Dynamite be a prisoner?"

"Not of that little man," sniffed Harry. "Look at the size of him beside O'Connor."

The two men whom the boys had seen in the distance were indeed O'Connor and Villamonte. They came on through the bright moonlight apparently as unconcerned as if there were not a price on the head of one. And they walked as close together as bosom friends, but a pistol in the coat pocket of Captain Dynamite pressed closely against the side of his companion.

"Now you are sure you know your part, Monte?" said O'Connor, as they neared the prison.

"Sure, your excellency."

"And you know what it means to play any tricks, do you?" As he spoke O'Connor emphasized his remark by jabbing the muzzle of the pistol into Villamonte's ribs.

"Surely your excellency can trust me," quaked the interpreter.

"Yes, under the circumstances. You also want to recollect that I understand Spanish, so you cannot fool me in that way—- and my finger is always on the trigger. At the first word or sign of warning off it goes. Now take that scared expression off and look pleasant; we are nearly there."

At the door of the prison they were met by a Spanish officer, who received Villamonte with great deference and looked wonderingly at O'Connor, who wore his cloak and sombrero so that little of his face was visible.

"Now you've got your cue," said O'Connor, in English, in a low tone, at the same time pressing the pistol harder into Villamonte's side.

"We come from General Serano," said the interpreter reluctantly. "He wishes the American boys removed secretly to the government house, as he anticipates a plot to release them."

The officer bowed and Villamonte and O'Connor passed into the jail.

"Do you wish your escort to enter also?" asked the officer.

Villamonte turned in surprise and saw eight men close upon their heels, but as he quickly noted that they all wore Spanish uniforms, he smiled triumphantly.

"Yes," said O'Connor, in English, and again the pressure against his side brought Villamonte to his senses.

"Yes," he repeated to the officer, and the men filed silently in and the door was closed behind them.

"Now," said O'Connor, turning to the officer in command, and for the first time speaking in Spanish, "if you will kindly conduct us to the cell of the American prisoners we shall be obliged to you, and if we wish to please General Serano, haste is essential."

The officer preceded them down the corridor, which was lighted dimly, and then ascended a winding stone staircase to the floor above. He opened the door of a cell and stood aside for them to enter.

As Harry saw O'Connor's big form in the doorway he rushed forward with a glad cry:

"I knew it, Bert, it's Captain Dynamite. I told you he would come."

"Hush," said O'Connor, as he took the youngsters in his arms, much as one would two children and gave them a bear-like hug, "not so loud. We can take no chances, for we are not out of the woods yet."

"It's the terrible Captain Dynamite," cried the officer in dismay. Then he turned and fled down the stairs. Villamonte, relieved from the pressure on his ribs, slunk towards the door. O'Connor saw him and laughed.

"Run along, Monte, if you wish. I don't need you any more."

"But he will give the alarm," said Harry, in a frightened tone.

"No, I think not; but gather up your things, if you have any, for we must lose no time in getting out of here."

"We've got nothing but what we stand in, Cap," said Harry, laughing, "and this old Spanish uniform does not fit me very well, at that. Maybe Miss Juanita is through with my clothes by this time."

"God bless you, youngster, they served her well."

"She is all right?"

"Right as a trivet and safe aboard the old Mariella by this time, thanks to you."

As they reached the lower corridor one of the men saluted and said:

"We put them in there, sir," pointing to a room opening off the corridor, which was used by the officer in command of the watch. O'Connor looked in and burst into one of his hearty laughs.

"Come here, youngsters, and take a last look at the valiant jailers," he said. The boys stepped forward and looked into the room. The four soldiers, gagged and bound hand and foot, were sitting with their backs against the wall, and facing them, and also bound in the same ignominious manner, were the commander and Villamonte.

Harry could not refrain from gloating a little over his fallen enemy.

"How about the glory of Spain, Mr. Interpreter?" he enquired. Villamonte scowled but did not reply.

"Come now, boys, we must be moving. This place is pretty hot for me," said O'Connor.

At this moment some one knocked loudly on the door of the prison and a deep voice called in Spanish:

"Open, captain of the guard; it is I."

"Who is I?" asked O'Connor.

"Open at once. I am General Serano."

The boys caught the name and it struck terror to their souls. O'Connor smiled.

"Is General Serano alone?" he enquired.

"Yes; why do you keep me here. Open, I say."

O'Connor motioned to the boys to step behind the men, who were grouped a few feet in the rear of the corridor awaiting instructions. Then he threw open the prison door and stood back for General Serano to enter.