Alvarado nodded and smiled.  “Good!  What would this world be without sentiment?  It loves a lover.  I like your spirit and I hope soon to have the pleasure of again seeing you and meeting your—­ wife.”

O’Reilly flushed and stammered, whereupon the good Cuban patted him on the shoulder.  “Come and see me when you get back, and bring me news of Tomas.  Now, adios, compadre.”

“Adios, senor!  I am deeply grateful!”

O’Reilly had no difficulty in securing passage direct to Neuvitas on the English steamer Dunham Castle, and a few days later he saw the Atlantic Highlands dissolve into the mists of a winter afternoon as the ship headed outward into a nasty running sea.

It proved to be a wretched trip.  Off Hatteras the Dunham Castle labored heavily for twelve hours, and bad weather followed her clear into the old Bahama Channel.  Not until she had thrust her nose into the narrow entrance of Neuvitas harbor did she wholly cease her seasick plunging, but then the weather changed with bewildering suddenness.

Cuba, when it came fairly into sight, lay bathed in golden sunshine, all warmth and welcome, like a bride upon an azure couch.  The moist breath from her fragrant shores swept over the steamer’s decks and Johnnie O’Reilly sniffed it joyfully.

He had brought little luggage with him, only an extra suit of khaki, a few toilet articles, and a Colt’s revolver, the companion of his earlier Cuban days.  He was holding the weapon in his hand, debating how and where to conceal it, when the first officer paused in the state-room door and, spying it, exclaimed: 

“Hello!  Smuggling arms to the Insurrectos, eh?”

O’Reilly laughed.  “It’s an old friend.  I don’t know just what to do with it.”

“I’ll tell you,” the mate volunteered.  “Lead your old friend out here to the rail, shake hands with him, and drop him overboard before he gets you into trouble.”

“Really?”

“I mean it.  They won’t let you land with that hardware.  Take my tip.”

But Johnnie hesitated.  Though his intentions were far from warlike, he could not bring himself, in view of his secret plans, to part with his only weapon.  He examined his extra pair of khaki trousers, and discovering a considerable surplus of cloth at each inside seam, he took needle and thread and managed to sew the gun in so that it hung close against the inside of his right leg when he donned the garment.  It felt queer and uncomfortable, but it did not appear to be noticeable so long as he stood upright.  With some pride in his stratagem, he laid off his winter suit and changed into lighter clothing.

Neuvitas was scorching under a midday sun when he came on deck.  Its low, square houses were glaring white; here and there a splotch of vivid Cuban blue stood out; the rickety, worm-eaten piling of its water-front resembled rows of rotten, snaggly teeth smiling out of a chalky face mottled with unhealthy, artificial spots of color.  Gusts of wind from the shore brought feverish odors, as if the city were sick and exhaled a tainted breath.  But beyond, the hills were clean and green, the fields were rich and ripe.  That was the Cuba which O’Reilly knew.