This, too, was swift work.  The building echoed to rushing, yelling men, while outside a fitful accompaniment of gun-shots urged the rescuers to greater haste.  While the Americans smashed lock after lock, their comrades dragged the astonished inmates from their kennels, hustled them into the street, and took them up behind their saddles.

The raid was over, “retreat” was sounding, when Judson and O’Reilly ran out of the prison, remounted, and joined their comrades, who were streaming back toward the plaza.

“Whew!” Judson wiped the sweat out of his eyes.  “No chance to ask these fellows what they were in for.”

“No need to ask them,” said Johnnie.  “A month in there would be too much for a murderer.”

“The druggist said most of ’em are just patriots, and every holiday the Spaniards shoot one or two.  There’s no cock-fighting, so it’s the only Sunday amusement they have.  Did you notice that sick guy?”

“Yes.”

“He looked to me like he was plain starved.  Our fellows had to carry him.”

Colonel Lopez galloped up to inquire, anxiously, “Did you find those eatables, eh?”

“Yes, sir, and a lot more.”

“Good!  But I failed.  Pickles?  Caramba!  Nobody here ever heard of one!”

“Did we lose any men?” Judson asked.

“Not one.  But Ramos was badly cut.”

“So?  Then he got to close quarters with some Spaniard?”

“Oh no!” The colonel grinned.  “He was in too great a hurry and broke open a show-case with his fist.”

The retreating Cubans still maintained their uproar, discharging their rifles into the air, shrieking defiance at their invisible foes, and voicing insulting invitations to combat.  This ferocity, however, served only to terrify further the civil population and to close the shutters of San Antonio the tighter.  Meanwhile, the loyal troops remained safely in their blockhouses, pouring a steady fire into the town.  And despite this admirable display of courage the visitors showed a deep respect for their enemies’ markmanship, taking advantage of whatever shelter there was.

Leslie Branch, of course, proved the solitary exception; as usual, he exposed himself recklessly and rode the middle of the streets, regardless of those sudden explosions of dust beneath his horse’s feet or those unexpected showers of plaster from above.

He had spent his time assiduously ransacking the deserted shops, and in addition to his huge bundle of bedding and his long string of straw hats he now possessed a miscellaneous assortment of plunder, in which were a bolt of calico, a pair of shoes, a collection of cooking-utensils, an umbrella, and—­strangest of all—­a large gilt-framed mirror.  The safety of these articles seemed to concern him far more than his own.  Spying O’Reilly, he shouted: 

“Say!  What’s the Spanish word for ‘clothing-store’?  I need a new suit.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Johnnie yelled at him.  “Keep under cover.”