Lopez was followed by several of
his men, who likewise began to yell and to wave their arms
excitedly.
Johnnie turned to discover that Leslie Branch had lagged far
behind, and now, as if to cap his fantastic performances, had
dismounted and was descending the river-bank to a place where a
large washing had been spread upon the stones to dry. He was quite
exposed, and a spiteful crackle from the nearest blockhouse showed
that the Spaniards were determined to bring him down. Mauser
bullets ricocheted among the rocks--even from this distance their
sharp explosions were audible--others broke the surface of the
stream into little geysers, as if a school of fish were leaping.
While Johnnie looked on in breathless apprehension Branch
appropriated several suits that promised to fit him; then he
climbed up the bank, remounted his horse, and ambled slowly out of
range.
Now this was precisely the sort of harebrained exploit which
delights a Cuban audience. When Leslie rejoined his comrades,
therefore, he was greeted with shouts and cheers.
"Caramba! He would risk his life for a clean shirt. ... There's a
fellow for you! He enjoys the hum of these Spanish bees! ...
Bravo! Tell us what the bullets said to you," they cried, crowding
around him in an admiring circle.
O'Reilly, unable to contain himself, burst forth in a rage: "You
infernal fool! Do you want to be shot robbing a clothes-line?"
"Rats!" ejaculated Leslie, sourly.
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