To hungry men both
were muy sabrosa, as Jacket put it. This was not the boy's first
experience with such a diet; having campaigned before in the west,
he was accustomed to the taste of juita, and he told O'Reilly how
his troop had once lived so long upon these rats that it became
impossible to surprise a Spanish enemy, except by approaching up
the wind, as a hunter stalks his game. Jacket gravely assured his
friend that the Spaniards could smell him and his brother patriots
from a distance of five kilometers--a statement, by the way, which
the American by this time was ready to believe.
Fortunately there was no shortage of food for the horses, and so,
despite the necessity of numerous detours, the party made good
time. They crossed into Matanzas, pushed on over rolling hills,
through sweeping savannas, past empty clearings and deserted
villages, to their journey's end. A fortunate encounter with a
rebel partida from General Betancourt's army enabled them to reach
headquarters without loss of time, and one afternoon, worn, ragged
and hungry, they dismounted in front of that gallant officer's
hut.
General Betancourt read the letter which O'Reilly handed him, then
looked up with a smile.
"So! You are one of Gomez's Americans, eh? Well, I would never
have known it, to look at you; the sun and the wind have made you
into a very good Cuban.
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