“So I should imagine.”  The speaker’s careless tone added to General Betancourt’s astonishment.  “Bless me!” he exclaimed.  “What an extraordinary young man!  Is it possible that you do not comprehend the terrible conditions?” A sudden thought struck him and he inquired, quickly:  “Tell me, you are not by any chance that hero they call El Demonio?  I have heard that he is indeed a demon.  No?  Very well!  You say you wish to visit Matanzas, and I am instructed to help you.  How can I do so?”

O’Reilly hesitated an instant.  “For one thing, I need money.  I—­I haven’t a single peseta.”

“You are welcome to the few dollars I possess.”

Johnnie expressed his gratitude for this ready assistance.  “One thing more,” said he.  “Will you give my boy, Jacket, a new pair of trousers and send him back to the Orient at the first opportunity?”

“Of course.  It is done.”  The general laid a friendly hand upon O’Reilly’s shoulder, saying, gravely:  “It would relieve me intensely to send you back with him, for I have fears for the success of your venture.  Matanzas is a hell; it has swallowed up thousands of our good countrymen; thousands have died there.  I’m afraid you do not realize what risks you are taking.”

O’Reilly did not allow this well-meant warning to influence him, nor did he listen to the admonitions of those other Cubans who tried to argue him out of his purpose, once it became generally known.  On the contrary, he proceeded with his preparations and spent that afternoon in satisfying himself that Rosa had indeed left the Pan de Matanzas before Cobo’s raid.

Among Betancourt’s troops was a man who had been living in the hills at the time Asensio and his family had abandoned their struggle for existence, and to him O’Reilly went.  This fellow, it seemed, had remained with his family in the mountains some time after Asensio’s departure.  It was from him that O’Reilly heard his first authentic report of the atrocities perpetrated by Cobo’s Volunteers.  This man had lost his wife, his little son, and all the scanty belongings he possessed.  With shaking hands upstretched to heaven, the fellow cursed the author of his misfortunes.

“I live for one thing!” he cried, shrilly.  “To meet that monster, and to butcher him, as he butchers women and children.”

O’Reilly purposely left his most unpleasant task to the last.  When his arrangements had been completed and he had acquainted himself as far as possible with the hazards he was likely to encounter, he took Jacket aside and broke the news to him that on the following morning they must part.  As he had expected, the boy refused to listen to him.  O’Reilly remained firm and Jacket adopted those tactics which had proved so potent with General Gomez.  He began to weep copiously.  He worked himself up to a hysterical crescendo which threatened to arouse the entire encampment.  But O’Reilly was unmoved.

“Be quiet,” he told the boy.  “I won’t let you go with me, and that ends it.”