"If you are shot up by an outpost," growled the general, "you will be
worse off than homesick. It's forty miles to Mayaguez. Better wait till
daylight. Where's the sense of dying, after the fighting's over?"

"If I don't catch that transport I sure WILL die," laughed Chesterton.
His head was bent and he was tugging at his saddle girths. Apparently
the effort brought a deeper shadow to his tan, "but nothing else can
kill me! I have a charm, General," he exclaimed.

"We hadn't noticed it," said the general.

The staff officers, according to regulations, laughed.

"It's not that kind of a charm," said Chesterton. "Good-by, General."

The road was hardly more than a trail, but the moon made it as light
as day, and cast across it black tracings of the swinging vines and
creepers; while high in the air it turned the polished surface of the
palms into glittering silver. As he plunged into the cool depths of the
forest Chesterton threw up his arms and thanked God that he was moving
toward her. The luck that had accompanied him throughout the campaign
had held until the end. Had he been forced to wait for a transport, each
hour would have meant a month of torment, an arid, wasted place in his
life. As it was, with each eager stride of El Capitan, his little Porto
Rican pony, he was brought closer to her. He was so happy that as
he galloped through the dark shadows of the jungle or out into the
brilliant moonlight he shouted aloud and sang; and again as he urged El
Capitan to greater bursts of speed, he explained in joyous, breathless
phrases why it was that he urged him on.