the glow above the hills, shot up suddenly from behind them in all the
splendor of the tropics, a fierce, red disc of heat, and filled the air
with warmth and light.

The bayonets of the retreating column flashed in it, and at the sight
of it a rooster in a farmyard near by crowed vigorously and a dozen
bugles answered the challenge with the brisk, cheery notes of the
reveille, and from all parts of the city the church bells jangled out
the call for early mass, and the whole world of Santa Clara seemed to
stir and stretch itself and to wake to welcome the day just begun.

But as I fell in at the rear of the procession and looked back the
figure of the young Cuban, who was no longer a part of the world of
Santa Clara, was asleep in the wet grass, with his motionless arms
still tightly bound behind him, with the scapula twisted awry across
his face and the blood from his breast sinking into the soil he had
tried to free.


[Illustration: Regular Cavalryman--Spanish]




Along The Trocha


This is an account of a voyage of discovery along the Spanish trocha,
the one at the eastern end of Cuba. It is the longer of the two, and
stretches from coast to coast at the narrowest part of that half of the