"Sit here while I try to tell you what little I know. Or, would it
not be better to wait awhile, until you are calmer?" As the young
man made no answer, except to stare at him in a white agony of
suspense, he sighed: "Very well, then, as you wish. But you must
be a man, like the rest of us. I, too, have suffered. My father"--
Lopez's mustached lip drew back, and his teeth showed through--
"died in the Laurel Ditch at Cabanas. On the very day after my
first victory they shot him--an old man, Christ! It is because of
such things that we Cubans fight while we starve--that we shall
continue to fight until no Spaniard is left upon this island. We
have all faced something like that which you are facing now--our
parents murdered, our sisters and our sweethearts wronged. ..."
O'Reilly, huddled where he had sunk upon the bench, uttered a
gasping, inarticulate cry, and covered his face as if from a lash.
"I will tell you all I know--which isn't much. Esteban Varona came
to me soon after he and his sister had fled from their home; he
wanted to join my forces, but we were harassed on every side, and
I didn't dare take the girl--no woman could have endured the
hardships we suffered. So I convinced him that his first duty was
to her, rather than to his country, and he agreed. He was a fine
boy! He had spirit.
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