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Updated: May 17, 2025
He judged, from Manuel's manner, that his disguise had not been guessed. Elated with this supposed success, he commenced to tell glibly the tale he had prepared and studied out the day before. "I wanted to give you a warning," he said. The Cuban's gaze deepened. "Warning? What kind of a warning? From whom?" "Cesar Leborge," answered Stuart.
He had resumed his chair, but be rose up once more, took the Cuban's hat from the table and tendered it to him. "Manuel Mazaro, you 'ave" "Senor, I goin' tell you" "Manuel Mazaro, you" "Boat-a Senor" "Bud, Manuel Maz" "Senor, escuse-a me" "Huzh!" cried the old man. "Manuel Mazaro, you ave deceive' me! You 'ave mocque me, Manu"
The Cuban's arms were bound, as are those of the statue, and he stood firmly, with his weight resting on his heels like a soldier on parade, and with his face held up fearlessly, as is that of the statue.
The officer who had held the cord that bound the Cuban's arms behind him and passed across his breast, let it fall on the grass and drew his sword, and Rodriguez dropped his cigarette from his lips and bent and kissed the cross which the priest held up before him.
The officer of the firing squad, mortified by his blunder, hastily whipped up his sword, the men once more leveled their rifles, the sword rose, dropped, and the men fired. At the report the Cuban's head snapped back almost between his shoulders, but his body fell slowly, as though some one had pushed him gently forward from behind and he had stumbled.
Pledged to the Administration, I was a conservative of conservatives. I was therefore opposed to any interference in Cuban affairs, and I regarded a conflict with Spain as the height of folly. I was determined to fight to the bitter end any measure for war. "With all this in mind, I tore up the fair Cuban's letter and threw it into the waste-basket.
Manuel accounted himself master of the negro when it came to treachery and cunning. Moreover, he knew Leborge to be a sullen and suspicious character, little likely to talk or to trust anyone. What did the boy know? Manuel flashed a look at him. But Stuart was idly fiddling in the dust with the toe of his ragged boot, and the Cuban's suspicions flashed to another quarter.
He had thought only of his fellow-conspirators as traitors. But there was one other who had some inkling of the plot Garfield, the American. And Garfield had a boy! The Cuban's lip curled with contempt at the ease with which he had unmasked Stuart. He had only to laugh and announce his discovery, for the boy to be made powerless. It was a temptation.
The officer of the firing squad, mortified by his blunder, hastily whipped up his sword, the men once more leveled their rifles, the sword rose, dropped, and the men fired. At the report the Cuban's head snapped back almost between his shoulders, but his body fell slowly, as though some one had pushed him gently forward from behind and he had stumbled.
Yes, every detail of the scene flashed back into his mind, as if a curtain had been suddenly plucked back from a long-hidden picture. The Cuban's tall slim figure, the head gently bent towards his partner's head, as at this moment, and those dark eyes looking up at him, intoxicated with that nameless, indefinable fascination which it is the lot of some men to exercise.
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