tain Clark and Stevens, knowing their fate if captured, refused to surrender, and, half dead with fatigue and starvation, fought as they retreated toward the mountains.

"It's no use, Mr. Stevens," said Captain Clark, as he rammed the last cartridge into his gun; 'we're doomed."

The captain fired the contents of his gun, bringing down an enemy, and next moment was struck down with a bullet.

With his helpless wife and children constantly in mind, Stevens, with the energy of despair, struggled for his life as never did man before.

One by one his companions were shot down or surrendered, until he alone wandered in the woods, without ammunition to fight longer, half starved and half crazed. In this helpless condition he was captured and taken to Santiago-that accursed spot where so much innocent American blood has been shed and landed in prison. He asked to see the American consul, but he was away on a pleasure excursion. When the consul came back he learned of the American, and said he would see what could be done; but delays and Spanish misrepresentations prevented him from accomplishing anything. The prisoner was not even permitted to write, and for a long time his wife was unaware of his peril.

The end was just what might be expected. He

was condemned after a year of miserable captivity; and one beautiful morning, while the sun was still kissing the dew on the green peak of San Juan, an unfortunate man was led from the dungeon beneath old Morro, out upon the ramparts of that grim and antiquated old castle, his tall, manly form silhouetted against the clear sky for a few seconds; then a rattle of musketry, a last shriek, "Annie!" and the swift plunge of a body down into the sea. One more innocent martyr to the cause of freedom!

CHAPTER V.

THE WIDOW'S STRUGGLE.

ANNIE STEVENS for months expected her husband's return. The last letter she received from him was dated at Havana, stating that he was going into the interior to close up the business for which he came. Her heart was sad, and yet she hoped against hope. At last there came a report through the newspapers of the arrest and incarceration of an American in the dungeon at Santiago.

In her distress she asked the advice of a lawyer, and he suggested that she inform the State Department. She did so, but the State Department promised everything, and finally did nothing. The case, she was told, had been adjudicated by an admiralty court and the prisoner condemned, as he was taken with arms in his hands in the ranks of the insurgents.

She wrote to the consul at Santiago, but her letter was misplaced, lost, and never answered. The real fate of her husband was not known. After a year's absence she donned the widow's weeds and mourned him as dead.

None but the widow knows how hard her unfortunate lot. Friends who had been always ready to praise in the days of prosperity, began to look with coldness and suspicion on the family in their misfortune.

There was much speculation as to the fate of Mr. Stevens. Was he really a filibuster, as the papers stated and the State Department had asserted?

"What do you think about the story about Ferd Stevens?" Jim Glass asked Judge Hawkins.

"I suppose it is true," the judge answered, while he sucked at his cigar. "The State Department would not have given it out, if it were not true." The judge was a shrewd man, and thought it best always to keep in line with the powers that be.

"Well, I would not have believed it of him. I always thought Ferd an honest man.

So did I; but we never know what one will do when they get greedy for money."

"No, no. I am devilish sorry for Ferd. They say he was shot. Well, too bad for the Well, too bad for the poor fellow. He died owing me six dollars, but I have no doubt that the widow will pay it."

"Oh, yes; Annie is an honest girl," the old judge remarked, "and she'll pay every dollar he owed. I'm afraid it won't leave her much, tho, for Stevens was not as well fixed as people thought.”

"No, he wasn't. He did a great deal of splurgin'

around, but didn't make such a monstrous big pile at it."

The widow from the first began to economize. Her husband had left some property, and had quite a comfortable bank account. There was enough to rear and educate her two children, and leave her a small competency besides.

Her husband had been gone fully a year, and she was mourning him as dead, when one day his former partner, Mr. Joe Parker, called to see her.

"Have you heard anything from Ferd?" he asked. "No," she answered, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Is it true that you've given him up?" he asked. "I have. I don't believe he is alive, or he would have written me long ere this."

"Well, it's too bad, Annie; I am sorry for you-very sorry."

She looked very pretty as she sat in her widow's weeds, gazing into vacancy. The children saw that she was distressed, and came to her side as if to protect her with their puny hands.

Mr. Parker sat a long time, his brow contracted and his features indicating a great mental struggle. It was quite evident that there was something wearing heavily on the mind of Mr. Parker. Had he not been a man with a family, an onlooker might have concluded, from his evident embarrassment, that he