"Those black fellows are getting their horses ready. I'm going."
The druggist tried to force Johnnie into a chair. "Madman!" he panted. "I tell you our friends have been betrayed; they are retreating. Go back to your hotel quickly."
For the first time during their acquaintance Manin heard the good-natured American curse; O'Reilly's blue eyes were blazing; he had let go of himself completely.
"I'm going!" he cried, hoarsely. "All the damned Spaniards in Cuba won't stop me. God! I've waited too long—I should have made a break—"
"Idiot!" stormed the druggist. "You wish to die, eh?"
O'Reilly ripped out another oath and fought off the other's restraining hands.
"Very well, then," cried Manin, "but have some thought of us who have risked our lives for you. Suppose you should escape? How would our troops receive you now? Would they not think you had cunningly arranged this trap?"
A light of reason slowly reappeared in the younger man's eyes.
"No!" Manin pressed his advantage. "You must wait until—" He broke off abruptly and stepped behind his counter, for a man in the uniform of a Spanish lieutenant had entered the store.
The new-comer walked directly to O'Reilly; he was a clean-cut, alert young fellow. After a searching glance around the place he spoke in a voice audible to both men: