Again he passed through gloomy tunnels of dense foliage, slid down precipitous banks, only to plunge into rushing, bowlder-strewn torrents at the bottom, and scramble up slopes of slippery clay on the farther side, All this was done by the feeble and ever-lessening light of a moon in its first quarter, and as it finally sank out of sight the leader of the escort called a halt, declaring that they could not move another rod before daybreak.
Thus Ridge was forced to take a few hours of rest, and so exhausted was he that his companions had difficulty in rousing him at dawn.

Again they pushed forward, shivering in the chill of early morning, and blistered by the sun's fervent heat a few hours later, until ten o'clock found them on the grass-grown highway leading from Santiago to Bayamo, and a few miles west of Enramada.

Here, as Ridge believed himself to be well in advance of his comrade, he decided to await his coming.

At the same time he sent one of his escort into Enramada to discover if Lieutenant Navarro had by any chance reached that place, and to arrange for fresh mounts.

Then he threw himself down in the scant shadow of a thorny bush for a nap.
Apparently his companions, who had promised to keep a close watch of the highway, did the same thing, for when he next awoke it was with a start and the consciousness that a horseman was dashing past at full speed on the road to Enramada.
In less than a minute the shamefaced squad was in hot pursuit, but though they strove to atone for their neglect of duty by furious riding, they did not overtake the horseman until they discovered him halted by an outpost, who allowed him to pass as they came in sight.
When they in turn were halted they learned that the man whom they had followed so briskly was a Cuban scout just in from a tour of observation.
So Ridge rode slowly into Enramada, reported to the officer in command, and remained in that wretched village until nightfall in a state of nervous impatience.