Branch dried the milk from his face, then in a shaking voice cried:  “Have a good time with me.  It’s your last chance.”

It seemed for a while that the enterprise was doomed to failure; but at last a pint or more of milk was secured, and this Leslie proceeded to dilute with warm water from a near-by camp-fire.  Even then, however, his difficulties were not over.  He had supposed that any baby knew enough to drink.  It took him half an hour to discover his mistake.  Having long since given up the hope of any active assistance from his audience, he doggedly set to work to fashion a nursing-bottle.  He succeeded in due time, after making use of a flask, the stem of an unused cigarette-holder, and a handkerchief.

When he finally took seat and began awkwardly coaxing the fretful child to drink, the Cubans voiced their appreciation of the picture.  They were courteous, they did not laugh; nevertheless, the sight of their eccentric, irascible, rebellious El Demonio tamely nursing a child in the fire-light filled them with luxurious, soul-satisfying enjoyment.

O’Reilly was up at daylight to offer his services in caring for Esteban Varona, but Norine declined them.

“His fever is down a little and he has taken some nourishment,” she reported.  “That food you boys risked your silly lives for may come in handy, after all.”

“I dare say he won’t be able to talk to me to-day?” O’Reilly ventured.

“Not to-day, nor for many days, I’m afraid.”

“If you don’t mind, then, I’ll hang around and listen to what he says,” he told her, wistfully.  “He might drop a word about Rosa.”

“To be sure.  So far he’s scarcely mentioned her.  I can’t understand much that he says, of course, but Mrs. Ruiz tells me it’s all jumbled and quite unintelligible.  How is Leslie’s baby this morning?”

“Oh, it passed a good night.  It was awake and had ordered breakfast when I got up.  Leslie was making a fire to scald out its bottle.  He says he didn’t close his eyes all night.”

“Poor fellow!  I’m going to help him,” Norine declared.

“Please don’t.  Lopez wants to teach him a lesson, and this is the best thing that could possibly have happened.  We have told him that there’s no chance of returning the baby, and he thinks he’s elected to keep it indefinitely.  As a matter of fact, Jacket is going to take a letter to the comandante at San Antonio this morning, advising him that the child is safe, and asking him to send for it at once.”

“Isn’t that risky?” Norine inquired.  “Won’t the comandante attack us if he learns where we are?”

“Lopez doesn’t think so.  Those Spaniards are usually pretty scrupulous on points of honor.  There was some difficulty in getting a messenger, but Jacket volunteered.  He volunteers for anything, that boy.  They wouldn’t be likely to hurt a kid like him.  If they should, why, we have the baby, you see.”

Although Norine had pretended to wash her hands of all responsibility for Branch’s little charge, she was by no means so inhuman as she appeared.  During the day she kept a jealous eye upon it, and especially upon its diet.