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 you like to make some?"
"How much?"
Slowly Ignacio reached his hand inside of his shirt and pulled out a little bag.
He loosened the mouth of it and took the contents out. He spread them out on the floor of the car.
"It is American money," he said, "the money of the pigs. But it is good money for all that."
"How much is there?"
"Ha! ha! You are interested, are you? Well, well!"
Ignacio's dark eyes glittered as he slowly went over the pile of bills.
"See, sergeant," said he, "here is a hundred-dollar bill. Just think of it! Look at it! Think if I should get that bill changed into good Spanish gold. The British consul would do it."
"Yes, he is a friend of the Yankees."
"Yes, he would do it for me. And then here is fifty dollars more. Look and count it. Think of what you could do with one hundred and fifty dollars of the Yankee's money. Think of what it would buy—food and I know not what—a fine dress for your sweetheart, to take her away from that rival of yours. And it is all good money, too."
"How am I to know it?"
"Carramba! Couldn't you take my word. You know me, Jose, and what I do for Spain. Do you not know that I am a friend of Blanco's? Hey? And you know that he trusts me when he trusts nobody else."
"And how did you get that money?"
"How did I get it! Ha! ha! I will tell—yes, por dios, I will, and those Yankee pigs may hear me, too. Ha! ha! There was what they called a traitor on the New York, the Yankee's flagship. She isn't much, but she is the best they have. One of our little gunboats could whip her, for it would be men fighting pigs."
The sergeant's eyes danced.
"And we'll sink her, too," went on Ignacio. "Just wait! I saw her run away once from a little gunboat. The Yankees build their boats swifter than ours so they can run away. But anyhow, as I said this man was working for Spain. And he tried to blow up the flagship."
"Por dios!" cried the sergeant, "like we did the Maine."
"Exactly. It would have been another glorious triumph for us. And, Jose Garcia, who do you think it was that prevented him?"
The man clinched his fists.
"I don't know!" he cried, "but I wish I could get hold of him."
"You do?"
"Yes."
"What would you do to him?"
"Santa Maria! I'd get him by the throat——"
"You would?"
"Yes. And I would choke him till he was dead."
"Dead!" echoed Ignacio, with a hoarse cry of triumph.
And then he raised one arm trembling all over with rage and hatred.
"Jose!" he half yelled.
"What is it?"
"Suppose I should tell you, Jose—suppose I should tell you that the villain is here?"
"Here?"
"Yes. By Heaven, he's here. Jose, that is he!"
And the fellow pointed straight at Clif, while he leaned forward and stared into the Spaniard's face, eager to see what the effect of his announcement would be.
It must have suited him, for he gave a low laugh, a fiendish chuckle.
Then he went on.
"And not only that, Jose! Think of what else he has done."
"Has he done more?"
"Yes, por dios, he has. Listen. Jose, we have in our power the worst of our country's enemies. Jose, he is a fiend, a perfect devil. He has ruined nearly every plan I tried. Do you know if it had not been for him—yes, for him—I should have stabbed the great pig admiral."
"Carramba!"
"Yes."
"Not Sampson."
"Yes, he, the villain who is blockading Havana and destroying our ships. I had the knife at his heart, and that Yankee pig prevented me. Do you wonder that I hate him?"
"No. I hate him, too."
"Yes! For you are a true Spaniard. But about that money, Jose. I got it as I say, from this Schwartz. For when this Yankee pig stopped him from blowing up the New York he ran away and hid. And he paid me this for helping him to Cuba."
Ignacio held up the bills before the hungry eyes of the Spanish sergeant.
And when he had given him time to look at it and think of what it meant for him, Ignacio suddenly bent forward and got close to him.
"Jose," he cried, "it's all for you!"
The man stared eagerly.
"What for?" he cried.
"I will tell you!" said Ignacio.
Once more he slipped his hand under his jacket.
"Look," said he.
And he drew out a sharp, gleaming dagger!
He ran his fingers over the edge, hissing as he did so between his teeth.
"It is sharp," he muttered. "Ha! ha! sharp! And it will do the work."
"What work?"
"Listen, Jose. There lies the fiend of a Yankee. He is in my power at last. He has baffled me, ruined me, but now I have him! Yes, he can't get away! Ha! ha! I feel merry. Jose, he is my deadliest enemy; he is your enemy, too, the enemy of our glorious country. I hate him—so must you."
"I do!"
"Then listen. I want to take this knife, this nice, sharp knife that I have been grinding for him. Ha! ha! Santa Maria, how sharp it is! And I will put this money, all this money, into your hands and you will turn away so as not to see. And I will take this knife in my hand so. And I will creep over toward that fellow——"
"And kill him?"
"Listen, Jose. You spoil it. He'll scream. He'll turn pale and tremble like the coward he is. But he can't get away, Jose, he can't get away! I've got him, Jose! And I'll unbutton his jacket, that hated Yankee uniform. And I'll take this knife and I'll put it right close to his soft, white skin. Then I will press down—down! And you'll hear him scream as it goes in; he'll twist about and shriek, but I will pin him to the floor. And then he will lie there, Jose, and we can watch him die. Ha, Madre di dios, how I hate him!"
The Spaniard's rage had been such that his face grew fairly purple. And he snatched up the knife and started forward toward the cadet.
"How I hate him!" he panted again.
What were the feelings of poor Clif may be imagined; he was perfectly helpless and could only lie still and gaze into the eyes of his deadly foe.
But there was some one else to stop Ignacio.
The sergeant caught him by the arm.
"So, no!" he cried. "Stop."
"What!" panted Ignacio. "Why?"
"They would punish me."
"But they need not know?"
"The others will tell."
"Nonsense."
"But they will."
"What? Cannot a knife kill more than one man. Carramba, I will kill all five."
"But I was ordered to deliver them alive."
Ignacio was nearly frenzied at those objections.
"Jose" he yelled, "you are mad. We can fix it. I will fix it with Blanco. Say they got loose, chewed the ropes, and attacked us. I will swear they did, swear it by all the saints. And I hate that Yankee so, Jose, that I would cut my own flesh to make the story seem more probable. I will say we had a desperate battle—tell them how you saved my life. And you will be promoted. Blanco will believe me, Jose."
But the Spanish soldier shook his head dubiously.
"I dare not," he said. "The captain's last words were to deliver them safely."
"But think of the money, Jose! Think of the money!"
Ignacio fairly ground his teeth with rage over the delay; he was like a wild man.
"Por dios," he cried, "how can you hesitate? It is the chance of your lifetime—of your lifetime!"
The five unfortunate prisoners had not all of them understood those words, but they had no doubt of their meaning. And they lay watching Ignacio feverishly.
It was as if they had been charmed by a serpent, their eyes followed his every motion. They realized that at any moment the cunning villain might leap at them.
But the sergeant, though wavering, still shook his head.
"The men will tell," he objected.
"Here is another hundred for them!" gasped Ignacio. "It is all I have. Por dios, what more?"
There was at least half a minute of agony after that while the man upon whom everything depended wrestled with that temptation. It was a great one, and Clif felt a cold perspiration breaking out all over him as he sat and watched.
But the stolid sergeant was apparently too much of a coward to take the risk. He said no, and Clif gave a gasp.
"Wait and see Blanco," he said. "I do not dare to let you do it."
And though Ignacio blustered and swore and pranced about like a mad man, the soldier was obdurate.
"The risk is too great," he reiterated. "I dare not."
And so Ignacio once more slunk back into a dark corner of the car and fell snarling to himself.
"But I'll have him yet!" Clif heard him hiss. "I'll have him yet. Just wait till we get to Havana."