escape or not," he groaned, and reaching the woods, threw himself down under a mahogany tree to rest.
Walter thought he could not sleep, but presently the pain became less and he sank into a troubled slumber. He roused up to find a tall, fine-looking negro shaking him. As soon as he opened his eyes, the negro began to question him in Spanish.
"I can't understand you," said the youth, and shook his head.
"Americano, mistair?" questioned the negro, and Walter nodded. "You come from big fight, maybe?" he went on, brokenly.
"What fight do you mean?"
"Fight down by Morro last night. Spanish sink your ship, maybe, not so?" And the negro laughed.
"Our men did the sinking. But who are you? a Spaniard?"
"No, me Cuban, Carlos Dunetta."
"My name is Walter Russell, but I suppose it might be Smith for all the difference it makes to you," replied Walter, moodily. "What do you intend to do? turn me over to the Spanish authorities?"
