Night was settling down over the mountain side. Already the valleys far below were lost in darkness. The massive fortress which the dwellers on the island of Haiti have always called the Citadel hung like a mountain cliff above a boy who, hot from climbing, had thrown himself on a bed of moss at the foot of a gnarled mahogany tree. "Whew!" he exclaimed softly to himself. "Even three thousand feet above the sea here in Haiti it's hot. Hot and dry. Fellow'd think--"…
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