Now then, you must prepare
yourself for the worst."
Perhaps a half-hour later O'Reilly saw the cavalry squadron
returning to its barracks. The men were laughing; they were
shouting brief boastful accounts of their encounter to the people
on the sidewalks. Two of them were sick and white; they lurched in
their saddles, and were supported by their comrades, but it was
not upon them that the eyes of the onlookers centered. Through the
filth of the street behind the cavalcade trailed a limp bundle of
rags which had once been a man. It was tied to a rope and it
dragged heavily; its limbs were loose; its face, blackened by mud,
stared blindly skyward.
O'Reilly gazed at the object with horrified fascination; then with
a sudden sick feeling of dizziness he retired to his room, asking
himself if he were responsible for that poor fellow's death.
Meanwhile the citizens of Puerto Principe looked on with stony
eyes. There was no cheering among them, only a hush in their
chatter, above which sounded the rattle of accoutrements, the
clump-clump of hoofs, and the exultant voices of the Spanish
troopers.
For some reason or other Leslie Branch was nowhere to be found;
his room was locked and no one had seen him; hence there was no
possibility of warning him, until that evening, when he appeared
while O'Reilly was making a pretense of eating dinner.
Pages:
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165