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By its light he detected two dark forms lying motionless a short distance away, and, with pistol held ready for action, went to discover their nature. "Navarro must have been dreaming, or else greatly mistaken," he said to himself, "for here is Dionysio fast asleep. Come, wake up!" he cried aloud, at the same time prodding the prostrate form with his toe.
With these arrangements perfected, the little camp sank into quiet, the only sounds being the chirping of insects, the harsh cries of night birds, and those made by the horses, which occasionally snorted at some fancied alarm. The two white men lay in their respective hammocks under the rude thatch of palm leaves, while Dionysio occupied a similar but smaller shelter beyond the fire.
After he fell asleep, Dionysio, going for water to a spring that he knew of, had detected a sound of hoof-beats advancing along this road from the direction of Holguin. Concealing himself near the spring, he waited until the horseman, a Spanish officer, rode up to it.
"This is the Señor Americano whom you are to guide to Jiguani, and afterwards, if he requires it, to Santiago," said del Concha, Dionysio looked keenly at Ridge, but uttered no word. "He is ready to start." The negro stood up, to signify that he was also ready. "You will not let the Spaniards kill him," Dionysio tapped his machete significantly.
Besides, being a big man and a very strong one, Dionysio was a silent man, as taciturn as an Indian, and never spoke except upon necessity. When Ridge was introduced to him he was sitting in the shade of a corojo-palm, smoking a cigarette and lovingly fingering the razor-like edge of his machete.
The new guide awaiting him was a coal-black negro named Dionysio, who was of such huge stature that the other Cubans seemed pygmies beside him.
The sky, so far as he could see it, was cloudless, the crisp leaves of a tall palm close at hand rustled in a light breeze like the patter of rain, gayly plumaged paroquets and nonpareils flitted across his line of vision, and the air was filled with the pleasant odor of burning wood, mingled with the fragrance of a cigarette that Dionysio smoked while squatted on his heels before a small fire.
Mechanically Ridge accepted the weapon, and with blazing eyes strode towards the hapless Spaniard, who uttered a groan of agony, evidently believing that his last moment had arrived. As the young trooper passed the place where Dionysio had squatted, he snatched the negro's big machete from the ground.
Dionysio was on the point of killing him, as he had many a Spaniard, but reflecting that the Americano whom he was guiding would doubtless enjoy that pleasure, he generously decided to yield it to him and reserve the victim until Ridge should finish his nap. So, after gagging the Spaniard, that he might not disturb him who slept, Dionysio flung him across his shoulder and carried him to camp.
"Of course you will recognize me as soon as you are able to sit up and take notice. Of course, also, I can't kill you in cold blood; nor can I turn you over to the tender mercies of Dionysio, for that would amount to exactly the same thing. I don't dare let you go, and I can't be bothered with you as a prisoner; so what on earth I am to do with you I'm sure I don't know.
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