It made an ugly wound, and blood flowed.

The sight seemed to please the crowd.

"Por dios!" they laughed. "Good for them! Keep it up!"

Perhaps the sight of blood enraged them; but at any rate, their hostility became more evident. They shook their fists and muttered savagely.

And all the while Ignacio's voice chimed in.

"Kill 'em! Kill 'em!"

The prisoners seemed about to have a very unpleasant experience indeed.

There was no one to restrain the crowd except the soldiers and they sympathized with the angry people.

And the crowd seemed to know that; they surged nearer.

"A prison's too good for them!" they roared.

The old hag was still shaking her cane and yelling her maledictions. At that moment a man s.n.a.t.c.hed the stick from her hand and aimed a blow at Clif's face.

The cadet's hands were tied behind him, and he was nearly helpless. But he managed to turn and catch the blow upon his shoulders.

And an instant later his foot shot out and caught the enraged Spaniard squarely in the stomach.

The man staggered back.

"Madre di dios!" he gasped. "He's killed me."

Clif's daring action set the crowd in a perfect frenzy.

"Stone 'em!" yelled Ignacio.

And seemingly all at once they sprang at the prisoners with sticks and stones and knives and fists.

The soldiers made a feeble effort to stop them, but the crowd saw them laughing as they did so.

"n.o.body cares about the Yankee pigs!" the crowd roared. "Go for them."

It would have gone hard with the Americans just then had it not been for the fact that the captain reappeared. He had no love to waste on them, but he knew his duty.

And he sprang forward with a stern command:

"Drive that crowd back! Quick!"

And then the cavalrymen acted in a quite different manner. The angry mob was forced away, in spite of their protests. The sailors breathed somewhat more freely.

Still it was to their relief when they saw an engine and a single freight car coming up the track. They knew that was for them and that they would soon be out of the reach of that mob.

"But not of Ignacio!" Clif groaned. "Not of Ignacio."

The "private car" intended for the strangers came to a stop in front of the little station, and they were told to dismount from the horses and enter.

The crowd gave a parting jeer as they lost sight of them. Once inside the sailors were gruffly ordered to sit down, and their feet were tied securely.

A sergeant and three men were detailed to mount guard over them, and then everything was ready for the start.

Clif watched anxiously for one thing; he had an idea that his deadly enemy might not succeed in following them the rest of the journey.

But in that he soon saw that he was mistaken. Ignacio had no idea of being foiled in his vengeance. Just before the door of the car was shut his small, crouching figure entered.

He stopped just long enough to clinch his fist and shake it at Clif; and then he retired into a corner to snarl angrily to himself.

A few moments later there was a creaking of wheels and the "train" had started. The roar of the crowd died away and was succeeded by the sound of the rapid motion.

The prisoners were on their way to Havana.

"And I wish there'd be a wreck and end us before we got there," mused Clif.

CHAPTER XIII.

IGNACIO'S PLOTS.

For Clif Faraday had not failed to learn something of what a prisoner might expect in Havana. A cla.s.smate of his, Vic Rollins, had spent a couple of months there and had emerged almost a physical wreck.

And Clif could not tell how long he might have to remain. The war had already been going on long enough for him to see that it would last some time.

And the amount of cruelty and starvation he had before him was enough to make the cadet tremble.

He knew that the severest privation would fall to his lot.

Ignacio could be trusted to see to that.

"I don't think they'll dare to let him kill me," the American muttered.

"But he'll probably get his satisfaction somehow."

At any rate, it was plain that the vengeful Spaniard meant to try. He soon set to work.

That Clif understood Spanish he was well aware. But he did not seem to mind it.

For he began a conversation with the sergeant. And he did not take the trouble to whisper what he had to say, though one would have thought he would not care to have so villainous a plot known to any one.

The officer in charge of the Americans was sitting near them with his own sword lying in his lap. And Ignacio crept over to him.

"Jose," said he, "Jose Garcia, listen to me."