Without reply Ridge whistled a shrill note that echoed sharply among
the hills. The distant neigh of a horse came in answer, and he started
on a run down the road. At the foot of the slope he encountered
Señorita coming back to meet him; and springing to her back he went in
pursuit of her companions whom he soon discovered grazing by the
wayside. At sight of him they fled at full speed; but they might as
well have raced with the wind as with the fleet-footed mare; and,
within ten minutes from the time of leaving del Concha, Ridge returned,
leading the horse the Cuban had ridden. The other was left, tied to a
tree where he had captured it.

Del Concha was holding in his arms their wounded comrade, apparently a
slender youth, whose face was now disclosed to Ridge for the first time
by the light of the newly risen sun. Although it was of deathly
pallor, and the eyes were closed, he instantly recognized it as
belonging to the girl of the laughing voice who had so cleverly
contrived to aid him the evening before.

"Yes," said del Concha, noting the look of recognition, "it was she who
carried you the saws and message. She is the bravest girl in all Cuba,
and the sweetest. It was for my sake and that of her country that she
aided you; for she is a devoted patriot, and my _fiancée_. We were to
be married as soon as an American army landed. She would have it so.
Now if she dies, I cannot bear it."

While he spoke, the grief-stricken man, in whom there was slight
resemblance to the debonair bandit of the day before, laid his burden
gently down, and mounted the horse that Ridge had recovered.