And your clothes--One might almost mistake
you for a Cuban cabinet officer."
O'Reilly joined in the laughter evoked by this remark. He was
quite as tattered as the poorest of Betancourt's common soldiers;
his shoes were broken and disreputable; his cotton trousers,
snagged by barbed wire and brambles, and soiled by days in the
saddle and nights in the grass, were in desperate need of
attention. His beard had grown, too, and his skin, where it was
exposed, was burnt to a mahogany brown. Certainly there was
nothing about his appearance to bespeak his nationality.
The general continued: "I am directed in this letter to help you
in some enterprise. Command me, sir."
As briefly as possible Johnnie made known the object of his
journey. The officer nodded his comprehension, but as he did so a
puzzled expression crossed his face.
"Yes, I reported that Miss Varona had gone into the city--I took
some pains to find out. Do you have reason to doubt--"
"Not the least, sir."
"Then--why have you come all this way?"
"I came to find her and to fetch her to her brother."
"But--you don't understand. She is actually inside the lines, in
Matanzas--a prisoner."
"Exactly. I intend to go into Matanzas and bring her out."
General Betancourt drew back, astonished. "My dear man!" he
exclaimed. "Are you mad?"
O'Reilly smiled faintly.
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