THE schooner Caracas had landed her contraband cargo of rifles, ammunition, dynamite, and medicines near Manzanillo, despite the blockading Spanish gunboats, and the Cubans had taken it out of sight into the interior. The supplies were finally stored in a series of caverns in the peculiarly honeycombed mountains of southeastern Cuba, at a spot where an insurgent powder-factory and hospital already existed. The place was known as Las Vegas, and was excellently adapted for concealment, and, even in case of discovery, the character of the ground made the position almost impregnable.

      About fifty miles to the eastward the Cuban general Lacret was operating with some four hundred men, and he had invested a ruined hacienda which the Spaniards had turned into a fortress. A heavy stone wall formed the principal line of defence, so strongly defended with machine-guns that the insurgents were unable to take it by storm, and, in the absence of artillery or high explosives, they were reduced to the expedient of sitting down to starve the defenders out. This was all very well for a time, but on the third day scouts rode in with the information that the Spanish garrison at Santiago had somehow got word of what was going on, and that a column of troops had already been despatched to raise the siege.

      At this news there was much disgust in the Cuban camp. The fall of the fort would mean the capture of many Mauser rifles and hundreds of cartridges, well-nigh worth their weight in silver. The relieving force could not possibly arrive for a day or two, and a score of guerillas were sent to harass and impede its progress. At the same time a messenger was despatched at speed to Las Vegas with a demand for either artillery or dynamite, that the fortress might be breached.

      The courier arrived at the caverns with a blown and reeking horse, and in three hours a pack-train with a liberal supply of explosives was ready to start. There were three mules, each carrying four dozen cases of dynamite, with fuse and fulminate attached. Ten negro soldiers from a lately organized regiment were detailed as escort, and the whole convoy was placed in charge of Lieutenant Juan Cabeza, a young Cuban, who had left Havana University to join Maceo at the first of the rising, and had been in the field ever since.

      There is a popular and not unnatural prejudice against the neighborhood of dynamite, and consequently the black escort were not informed what the packs contained. They were not over-reliable men at best, but no others could be spared, and it was not expected that there would be any real occasion for their services.

      Juan led his troop out from among the caverns, along the canyon, and over the ridges where the beaten bridle-path showed the way to Holguin, a direction which would take him within a few miles of the beleagured fortress, and it was extremely unlikely that any roving bands of Spaniards would be encountered. In fact, the chief danger seemed an internal one, for the most trivial accident might suffice to explode their deadly freight, and leave only a hole in the ground for a memorial. For this reason it was necessary to move at as smooth and even a pace as was possible, consistent with the need for haste.

      By travelling without stop, Juan hoped to reach his destination in ten hours, and for some time all went well. The trail was exceedingly rough, leading around mountain-peaks and over rudely bridged ravines and barrancas, where a misstep would entail disastrous consequences. The negroes were disposed to treat the packs with some recklessness, and though Juan issued the most stringent orders for careful handling, he dared not allow the men to suspect the true nature of their charge.

      But his unmistakable solicitude had not passed unnoticed. The soldiers very soon became impressed with the idea that they were escorting something of great importance, and one of them, yielding to his curiosity, surreptitiously thrust his hand under the coverings and exposed one of the cases. The glimpse was enough. He had seen such cases often enough to know their contents, and he withdrew his hand hastily, considerably sobered. The discovery was circulated in a whisper among his comrades, and presently Juan noticed them edging off from the pack-mules, and tailing out in a long string behind.

      "Come! come!" he said. "Close up. What are you doing? Luis, you and Rao, come up to the front."

      The men halted and muttered together, with black looks at the young commander. Juan wheeled his horse about like a flash and drew his revolver.

      "What is this?" he exclaimed, sternly. "Close up, I say! Are you going to obey me, or are you not?"

      "We will obey, Señor Lieutenant," said one of the negroes, deprecatingly, "but we dare not ride with. the loads that those mules carry. We are not afraid to fight the Spaniards, but suppose one of the packs shifted, or the enemy came and a bullet hit one of the boxes, what would happen then, eh?"

      "Why, you cowards," Juan expostulated, "there isn't any danger! There are no Spaniards about here, and the stuff won't go off even if the packs do slip. You can't fire dynamite so easily as that. You could play ball with those cases and they wouldn't hurt you. I'm running the same risk that you are, anyway. Come! close up, and forward!"

      The frightened blacks did not reply, but plainly they were as far as ever from obeying. "Carajo! Be quick!" continued their chief, raising his weapon. "Luis" — to the most distant man "if you don't start your horse for the front in about one second, I'll shoot you like a dog, and I'll have the rest of you shot for mutiny when we get back to Las Vegas!"

      For an instant the negroes contemplated the double danger menacing them, and then, on a panic impulse, wheeled about and galloped madly back along the trail, bending low in their saddles to avoid a bullet. Juan fired once or twice and gave chase, but the mules began to follow his horse in confusion, and he was compelled to pull up to check them. In ten seconds the mutineers were out of sight, and the boy was left alone with his perilous responsibility.

      Scarcely able to realize the situation that had developed so suddenly, he was for a time a prey to the most agonizing perplexity. He tried to review his position mentally. To return to Las Vegas would be out of the question, for his general never excused a failure, and he would probably be court-martialled for inability to keep his men in hand. Besides, the delay would ruin the chance of capturing the Spanish post. For a moment he almost regretted that the flying negroes had not turned and put a Remington bullet through his head.

      As he became calmer, he decided that there was but one thing to do — to continue his course alone, and deliver the dynamite as was intended. The possibility of doing this depended upon the other possibility of meeting with Spanish troops or guerillas in the hills. There was also the chance of an accident to the dynamite, but of this the boy did not allow himself to think. So he gathered up his reins bravely and set off again, the mules following docilely at his horse's tail.

      He was then about thirty-five miles from the fort, and he calculated that he could reach it in seven hours, if not interrupted. For some time they plodded on at a fast walk, sometimes rising into a trot, and sometimes slackening speed on broken ground and narrow ledges. The country was a succession of frightfully rugged saw-toothed ridges, alternating with smooth, grassy valleys, and in all the landscape of mountain, prairie, and forest there was no sign of an enemy.

      It was a couple of hours later, and Juan was zigzagging his way down to a broad basin-shaped valley, when he perceived a bunch of about fifty horsemen coming up diagonally upon the rear and away to the left. He pulled up on the instant, and the mules stopped behind him; but he had already been detected, and the distant cavalcade broke into a gallop. Juan marked the steel-blue Spanish uniform, and struck out rapidly down the hill, and through the long grass of the valley that has given its name to the insurgents all over the island. But the mules delayed his speed, and as he started to ascend the opposite slope a distant shout came faintly from the Spaniards, and three or four bullets sang sharply overhead, though the reports were perfectly inaudible.

      Before he gained the top, however, the pursuers were well within range, and projectiles twittered freely overhead or zipped sharply into the earth. The danger was extreme, for a bullet striking one of the cases would produce a terrific explosion. It was clear that, impeded as he was by the animals, he could not keep ahead of the troopers; he could not evade them, and the only alternative was the seemingly hopeless one of taking up a sheltered position and endeavoring to stand them off, for a time at least.

      The extreme irregularity of the ground offered every facility for this attempt. The slight track zigzagged round among huge bowlders and hillocks of hard clay, bristling with tall, stiff, gray cacti. Behind one of these mounds Juan tethered the mules and his horse, so as to be out of harm's way, and he himself crouched behind a bowlder at the edge of the path and awaited the approach of the enemy.

      The thunder of the horses' hoofs as they tore up the gentle incline could be plainly heard, and then the pace slackened to a walk as the riders entered the rough ground at the top. In a moment more the leader appeared round the winding way, and instantly Juan's rifle spoke from his ambush. The man dropped the bridle and reeled from the saddle, while the terrified horse bolted back into the unseen ranks, whence sounded cries and curses.

      After some interval four troopers appeared, riding two abreast along the narrow track, slowly, and with carbines ready, as if uncertain of the strength of the concealed force. At such close range it was impossible to miss, and three times Juan's repeater cracked with deadly effect. The rest of the troopers fired vaguely in the direction of the shots, but the random bullets skipped harmlessly among the rocks. Three of the Spaniards were down and the fourth had fled, and no more seemed about to follow.

      For some time all was quiet, and Juan crept forward a little and reconnoitred cautiously. The troopers had dismounted and were sitting about the rocks, apparently waiting for the garrison to capitulate.

      This remarkably unenergetic conduct did not particularly surprise the young Cuban, for he had frequently seen similar instances in the Spanish mode of warfare, but he hastened to improve the opportunity. He untied the mules, and led his horse by the bridle, with the deadly little procession following, out through the labyrinth of rocks. It was necessary to move at a snail's pace, lest the rattle of hoofs should warn the soldiers that their prey was escaping, and it was not for several hundred yards that he dared to mount, lest the increased elevation of his head should be visible.

      When he considered himself fairly out of sight and hearing he swung into the saddle and rode across the rugged hill-top. Beyond this ridge lay a second valley, and the dynamite train went down the slope at a rapid pace. Juan's anxiety was to get across this open and over the second hill ridge before his retreat was discovered, and it was impossible to guess when a second attack would expose his artifice.

      In fact, he had not yet reached the middle of the grass valley when an irregular discharge of rifles far behind indicated that the Spaniards were making another assault upon the supposed Cuban ambuscade. For some minutes there was silence, and then a distant roar of shouts warned him that he was again discovered.

      Looking back, Juan saw the horsemen pouring over the ridge, and the conclusion forced itself upon him that all was up. Now that the enemy were convinced that they had to do with but a single insurgent, it would be impossible to stand them off a second time. He grimly resolved, if overtaken, to let the troopers gather close around and then to send a bullet through a bale of dynamite, thus involving himself and his foes in a common catastrophe.

      The Spaniards were moving at a gallop, and the racing gray specks were rapidly growing larger. Juan tore through the long grass as fast as the mules could follow. The track was comparatively smooth, but he was now ascending the hill-side, and the pace dropped to a canter, and then to a walk. They reached the ridge at last, while the Spaniards were still in the valley, and went ahead again at full speed, when, on rounding a turn in the trail, Juan threw up his arm and shouted with excitement and triumph.

      Directly before him lay a deep narrow canyon, a mere knife-rip in the earth, with a stream rushing along the bottom a hundred feet below. The chasm was six or eight yards wide, and was spanned by a rude bridge of logs and planks. Juan rode across the shaky, creaking structure with his train, and dismounted on the other side. Hastily unpacking one of the bales of dynamite, he took therefrom two of the cases with fuses attached. These he wedged under the end of the bridge with several stones, lighted the fuse, and hastily retreated.

      Over the hill came the Spaniards, round the turn, and the hoofs of the leader were already crashing on the planks, when with an ear-splitting roar the whole structure dissolved in a cloud of smoke and flying timbers. Down went the trooper, horse and man, into the gulf, and his comrades pulled up, half stunned, upon the very brink. Then they discovered Juan a quarter of a mile away, rapidly making off across the country, and they opened a hot fusillade upon him, which, though perfectly harmless, they kept up as long as he was in sight.

      The relieving Spanish force from Santiago arrived at the besieged fort after three days of hard bush-fighting. But of the fort there remained only a blackened, crushed shell of three tottering walls, and a great torn pit in the earth where Juan's dynamite had done its work.