A Prisoner of Morro Part 23

And Clif saw that he had nothing to gain by pursuing that tack any further; he was silent, for he knew nothing more to do. The Spaniard went on:

"I know also of another affair of yours," he added. "It seems that your pig government sent a naval officer over to see that bandit robber Gomez. And our friend here, Ignacio, was leading him into our camp. I believe that was it, was it not, Ignacio?"

"It was, senor, and this Yankee here met us----"

"And wounded you and rescued the officer, with the aid of some of the robber's men, and that girl you told me about."

"Exactly," said Ignacio.

"What was her name?" the other continued. "Stuart, I think. We will soon manage to stop her tricks, I fancy."

Clif had been listening to their conversation without any particular interest. But suddenly as he heard that last speech his face flushed crimson and he half staggered back.

"Bessie Stuart!" he gasped, under his breath.

The Spanish officer was looking at him and he laughed as he saw the American's thunderstruck expression.

"Ha! ha!" he chuckled, "so you are interested in her, are you? A sweetheart, perhaps, hey?"

Clif did not answer that; he was staring at the man in horror. Stop her! What in the world could he mean? What could he know about Bessie Stuart?

The girl was a dear friend of Clif's who had come to Cuba to hunt for a relative of hers.

Clif had left her under the protection of Gomez; and that was the last he had heard of her.

And here was the brutal Spaniard mentioning her. How had he and how had the villainous Ignacio learned about her?

It was small wonder that Clif started back; Bessie Stuart was the dearest friend he had.

Meanwhile the Spaniard was leering at him.

"The Yankee pig seems worried," he said. "If that girl is his sweetheart, he did not do wisely to leave her with the bandit Gomez. Did he, Ignacio?"

"No, senor," was that person's grinning response.

"For she will soon be somebody else's sweetheart," chuckled the other.

That was too much. Clif had held himself back, for he did not wish those cruel men to know he could torment him.

But at that last remark he could no longer restrain his anxiety. He sprang toward the Spanish captain with a pleading look on his face.

"Tell me!" he cried. "Tell me--where is she?"

The other's lip curled sneeringly as he stared at him.

"You are very much interested," said he. "Well, to be sure, the girl is pretty--pretty as I ever saw, unfortunately for her. But you may see her again. I expect--she is likely to be in the same prison with you."

Every drop of blood left Clif's face at those terrible words. Bessie Stuart in prison!

"Merciful providence!" he gasped.

And then once more he sprang toward the Spaniard, a look on his face, a look of agony that would have touched a heart of stone.

"For Heaven's sake, sir," he gasped, "tell me!"

"Tell you what?"

"Is she in Havana?"

The Spaniard laughed softly.

Then he nodded toward Ignacio.

"Ask him," he said. "He keeps track of such people for us. She has been here some time now; and people who get into our prisons don't--ha! ha!

they don't get out in a hurry, do them, Ignacio?"

"No, senor."

"And then she is very pretty, too," added the officer, with a laugh.

To the agony those remarks were raising in the mind of poor Clif those two brutal men seemed quite insensible. Or perhaps they were teasing him.

But if so, the officer had enough then, for he turned upon his heel impatiently.

"Enough of this nonsense," he said. "You need not worry about your sweetheart, for you will probably be dead by to-morrow."

And the man turned to the soldiers.

"Those four prisoners," he said, pointing to the sailors, "will be kept here for the present. They will probably be exchanged in a few days. We do not blame them for the crime this officer here committed. As for him, he will probably be sent over to Morro Castle to-night."

And then the file of soldiers closed about the dazed cadet and led him out of the room. He was scarcely able to walk by himself.

The last sound that he heard as he left the room was the fiendish chuckle of the triumphant Ignacio.

CHAPTER XV.

IN MORRO CASTLE.

That certainly was a day of triumph for the vindictive Spaniard. Not only Clif Faraday was made wretched, but there was his friend, too, and each a thousand times more unhappy because of the misfortune of the other.

Clif as he went out of that room was almost dazed; he could think of nothing. He scarcely heard the sailors sadly bidding him good-by.

Nor did he notice anything else until he heard the clang of a door behind him, he realized then from the darkness and silence about him that he was alone in one of the cells of the prison.