Then he broke open certain packages, and
distributed arms among his followers.
Even while this was going on there came an alarm; over the low
promontory that cut off the eastern coastline a streamer of smoke
was seen. There was a scurry for cover; the little band lay low
and watched while a Spanish cruiser stole past not more than a
mile outside the line of froth.
The three Americans, who were munching a tasteless breakfast of
pilot-bread, were joined by Major Ramos. He was no longer the
immaculate personage he had been: he was barefooted; his clothes
were torn; his trousers were rolled up to the knee and whitened by
sea-water, while the revolver at his hip and the bandolier of
cartridges over his shoulder lent him an incongruously ferocious
appearance. Ever since Norine had so rudely shattered his romantic
fancies the major had treated both her and O'Reilly with a stiff
and distant formality. He began now by saying:
"I am despatching a message to General Gomez's headquarters,
asking him to send a pack-train and an escort for these supplies.
There is danger here; perhaps you would like to go on with the
couriers."
O'Reilly accepted eagerly; then thinking of the girl, he said,
doubtfully:
"I'm afraid Miss Evans isn't equal to the trip."
"Nonsense! I'm equal to anything," Norine declared.
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