Then Antonio chuckled. "Alabaos!
A light-bug," said he. "Don't you know a cucullo when you see
one?" He cautiously tested the ejector of his carbine and
tightened the cord that served as his belt.
O'Reilly drew a deep breath of relief. He had never become wholly
accustomed to the giant light-beetles of the tropics, although he
had carried one often on sentry duty to see the face of his watch,
and not infrequently had seen Cuban women wearing them in their
hair as ornaments.
"Jove!" he muttered. "It gave me a fright."
Hilario resumed his instructions: "If anything goes wrong, wait
here. Don't ride away until we have time--"
"Never fear. I won't desert you," the American reassured him.
The two white-clad figures slipped away, became indistinct, and
then disappeared. The night was hot, the mosquitoes hummed
dismally and settled in clouds upon the waiting pair, maddening
them with their poison. After a time a horse snorted and Jacket
cursed nervously.
"I'd like to see where we are," the boy muttered.
"Do you know these men?" O'Reilly asked him.
"No. God deliver me from such unpleasant fellows."
"I hope they're honest."
"Humph! I trust nobody." There was a pause. "Never mind," Jacket
assured his companion. "I will make short work of them if they
prove to be traitors."
A half-hour passed, then the two ghostly figures materialized once
more.
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