Señor Davo shuddered, then went on:
"I come to beseech you that you allow my poor fellows to come inside your lines. You know me, Corporal, and know that we're all right."
"Yes, bring your men inside our line," decided Corporal Duxbridge. "I'll vouch for you, Señor Davo, to our commanding officer."
Protesting his undying gratitude, Davo went below for his men, and brought them inside the lines, a sorry looking lot of fellows who at once threw themselves down as if to sleep.
"You'll notify Sergeant Overton, of course?" suggested the soldier who had first halted Davo.
"You mind your business, Strong," Corporal Duxbridge rebuked him. "I'll notify the sergeant in good time."
But Hal, as it happened, was nearer than had been imagined. Unobserved he had listened to the whole conversation. Now, Overton hastened silently away, awaking Lieutenant Holmes and ten soldiers. Without undue haste these marched down on Duxbridge's station.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
"The officer of the day and the sergeant of the guard," came the response, in Lieutenant Holmes's crisp tones.
"Advance, sir."
The seven new arrivals lay on the ground, apparently sound asleep. Davo had his hat over his face, and was snoring lightly.
"Who are these new men in camp, Corporal?" demanded Holmes sharply.
"Fugitives from the datto's lines, sir. I was about to notify the sergeant of the guard, sir."
"Don't let them get away," spoke Hal quickly to the men, "and remember that they're armed with steel! This fellow, who calls himself Davo is Vicente Tomba, a Tagalo who is right-hand man to the datto," added the sergeant, bending and snatching the hat from the Tagalo's face.
It was truly Tomba, who, with a snarl, leaped to his feet ere Hal Overton could grab him.
"Shoot him!" ordered Lieutenant Holmes, as Tomba went over the trench and down the slope at sprinting speed. Three or four rifles spoke, but Tomba escaped in the darkness.
Not so, however, with the men Tomba had brought with him. Not one of them escaped. All were stretched on the ground senseless, having been clubbed with the butts of the soldiers' rifles. Then, a quick search under the shirt of each of the rascals, revealed a creese with blade ground to a razor edge.
"You see, Corporal," ripped out Sergeant Hal, "these scoundrels were going to watch their chance to knife you all in the dark. Then the Moros would have rushed in at this point, and——"
Hal's prediction was verified, at that instant, by the breaking out of a fiendish chorus of yells down the slope. The Moros, waiting below, were advancing to a night attack.
"Bugler of the guard! Sound the general alarm!" roared out Lieutenant Holmes's steady tones.
It was a ferocious attack, promptly and staunchly met.
Soldiers in the field on campaign sleep in their full clothing, their rifles at their sides. It takes not more than ten seconds to turn a soldier out in the night, fully awake and ready for orders. The knowledge that their lives depend upon their promptness keeps the men in condition for quick obedience.
Even the Gatling was ready at the top of the hill. From point to point it was dragged, and wherever it was served the midnight assailants soon drew back.
For twenty minutes the conflict was kept up, often at closest quarters. But at last the sounding of the Moro horns in the rear called off the assailants, who fled in the darkness.
"How did this all happen, Mr. Holmes?" asked Captain Freeman. "I must congratulate you on being alert and ready for the brown men."
"Sergeant Overton had just called me, sir. And I think you will wish to hear what he has to say."
Hal was sent for and reported instantly.
"I know, now, sir, why Tomba wanted to make my acquaintance, and that of Sergeant Terry, sir," Hal explained, and then told what had happened.
"How did Corporal Duxbridge ever happen to do a thing like that?" demanded Freeman angrily.
"Tomba had already made the Corporal's acquaintance, sir. Tomba wanted to make mine, and Terry's, as soon as he knew the Thirty-fourth was coming to these southern islands. It was Tomba's belief that he could run a gang of creese men past us, and get inside where he could knife the nearest soldiers, and then let an attacking party in."
"If the Moros had ever gotten through our line they'd have wiped the camp out to-night," exclaimed Captain Freeman.
"Of course they would, sir, and that is the way in which Tomba, even in Manila, had planned to make our acquaintance, and use it for just such an undertaking as to-night's. It seems, sir, that having failed with us, he succeeded in getting on the right side of Corporal Duxbridge."
"Where, I wonder?" muttered the captain. "And where is the Corporal?"
"Just taken up above with the wounded, sir," replied Lieutenant Holmes. "Corporal Duxbridge was hit, sir."
"Let us go up to see him. Where are the six natives?"
"Tied, sir, and up with the wounded."
Corporal Duxbridge, when the commanding officer visited him, felt sheepish enough, despite the great pain he was in. He now readily explained how Tomba, under the assumed name of Davo, had made his acquaintance in Bantoc. Tomba had spent money so freely in entertaining him that Duxbridge had been certain that the man must be a wealthy, good-natured Tagalo.
"I hope you've learned a lesson, Corporal," said Captain Freeman sadly. "You're one of five wounded in to-night's performance, and two of our finest men are dead."
Corporal Duxbridge covered his face with his hands.
"I was a big fool," he confessed brokenly.
There were no more attacks that night, but in the morning the Moros developed a new style of trouble. All through the day, from one point or another, they kept the American trenches under fire at frequent intervals. Captain Freeman, however, refused to allow his men to waste ammunition. They must not fire until the brown men attempted an assault.
That night only half rations were served to the defenders of the hill. There was but little food left. During the night there were three assaults against the force on the hill, though none of them were desperately fought.
"Hakkut is going to adopt a new trick of keeping us awake day and night," muttered Captain Freeman grimly.
The next day there was more annoying firing against the trenches, though the Moros had learned their lesson too well to attempt any rushes during daylight.
Just after dark, that evening, Captain Freeman sent for his officers. He also allowed Hal and Noll and two sergeants from C Company to be on hand to hear the discussion.
"To-morrow night, at the latest, we've got to fight our way out of here," announced Captain Freeman. "To remain here later than to-morrow night will be to invite starvation—which, in our position, means nothing less than destruction. I fear, too, that we shall be obliged to abandon our transport wagons. Our wounded we can carry on stretchers made with poles and blankets. There must be some point in the Moro line where we can break through—some point so weakly guarded that we can be on our way before the brown rascals can gather in force enough to put up a hard fight. This fact can be determined only through the work of a scouting party."
"I shall be delighted, sir, to volunteer for scouting duty," spoke up Lieutenant Prescott.
"And I also, sir," added Lieutenant Holmes.
"Thank you. I knew that you would both be ready," replied the commanding officer. "Yet we must remember that, while our scouts are out to-night, this camp is also extremely liable to attack. If the latter be the case, I do not see how I can spare either of my officers. Now, I have cause to remember a time when, in the mountains of Colorado, when on practice field duty, two of our non-commissioned officers especially distinguished themselves as scouts. I believe that both of the young men still possess that ability in marked degree. It seems to me that the choice of a leader for a scouting party lies between Sergeants Overton and Terry."
"Thank you, sir," broke in Sergeant Hal gravely. "May I suggest, sir, that there is no need of making a choice between us? I would like to go on this duty, sir, and I'd rather have Sergeant Terry with me than any other enlisted man in the regiment."
"I'm ready, sir," declared Noll promptly.
"It seems almost foolish to allow two such excellent sergeants to go," returned Captain Freeman gravely. "You see, we need as good men in the camp as we do outside of it. However, let it be as you wish, Sergeant Overton. How many men do you think you will need with you?"
"None, sir, except Sergeant Terry," spoke Hal.
"Are two enough for safety, Sergeant, in your opinion."
"Two men are safer than a dozen on scouting duty, I think, sir. Two men can get through in places where even four men would be caught at it."
"But if caught, two are a small number for defensive purposes."
"There won't be much defense possible, sir, if we're caught; but I think Sergeant Terry agrees with me that we ought not to be caught."
"Will you take your rifle and bayonet, Sergeant?"
"I'd rather not, sir. In fact, the plan that has come into my mind at this moment is for Sergeant Terry and myself to stain our faces and bodies with juice from the berries of the boka bush that is growing inside our lines. Then we'll rob two of the native prisoners of their clothing, under which we can each carry a service revolver and a creese. That is, sir, if you approve my plan."
Captain Freeman was silent for some moments.
"I'm afraid you're planning an especially desperate undertaking, Sergeant Overton. I quite understand your idea in dressing like natives. But if you are seen, you will be spoken to. It will be in the native tongue. What then? You can't answer in native speech."
"But I think, sir," argued Hal, "that you'll agree that there are probably men from several tribes under the datto's command. In that case many different tribal dialects will be spoken. Noll—pardon me, sir—Sergeant Terry and I can answer in any heathen-sounding, guttural sort of words, and look stupid."
"It's quite difficult, my lad, to improvise a pretended language on the spur of the moment."
"Hakka kado me no tonga, lakka prada estig ferente," rejoined Hal Overton, with a grin.
"Dikka mone peditti u nono mate ben," said Noll cheerfully.
"What language is that, lads?" demanded Captain Freeman.
"New Jersey hog-Latin, I imagine, sir," replied Sergeant Hal soberly.
"I do not believe, gentlemen, that we can send better scouts than Sergeants Overton and Terry," said Captain Freeman.
His two subordinates expressed their agreement.
"Sergeants, you may go and prepare yourselves. Do it as speedily as you can, and report to me as soon as you are ready."
There was sullen objection from two of the native prisoners, when their clothing was taken from them. Hal and Noll, however, loaned their blankets in exchange.
"You know, Noll, if we don't succeed to-night, we shall have no further use for our blankets, anyway," Hal remarked dryly.
"I've thought of that," Sergeant Terry nodded.
After they had dyed their skin and hair with the juice of the boka the two Army boys next distributed a liberal amount of dirt on themselves, then drew on the borrowed clothing, consisting only of shirts and short trousers. Inside their clothing each tucked a sharp-edged creese, also a loaded service revolver.
"You'll do, in the dark," nodded Captain Freeman, after looking them over keenly. "Of course, you won't show yourselves in a strong light, anyway. Now, you don't need instructions. You understand your errand."
Captain Freeman himself took the two Army boys through the darkness to the trench.
"I am turning these fellows loose, men," the captain announced. "But don't allow any of the others to go through the lines."
To the captain's relief, the disguises appeared to "work" well in the dark, for the men on guard in the trench merely saluted.
Down the slope the Army boys walked boldly for a few hundred yards. The night was so dark that there was small possibility of being seen at a distance.
"Now, we'd better go a little more cautiously," whispered Hal, checking his companion by a touch on the arm.
"It's going to rain within a very few minutes," Noll whispered in return, as he looked up at the inky sky overhead.
"The more rain the better. I hope there will be no lightning."
"Where are you going to try to slip through the lines?"
"Do you remember the gully that runs back through the woods below, somewhat to our left as we stand now?" queried Hal.
"Yes; certainly."
"That gully is a trap such as sane soldiers would hardly dare venture into. If they did, and were discovered, the Moros could annihilate them from above."
"Surely," nodded Noll.
"Therefore I have an idea that the Moros haven't attempted to guard that gully in force, though there may be men on either side above it. Noll, if we are careful not to make a sound I think we can steal through that gully without getting caught."
"Or else we'll run into a hundred times as much trouble as we can handle," replied Noll thoughtfully.
"It's worth taking a chance, isn't it?"
"I think it's the best single chance I can see."
"Come along, then," whispered Hal. "You might keep just a little behind me. I think I can find the mouth of the gully, even in this pitchy blackness. If you see me drop to my knees, do the same."
Hal started forward again. The natural-born scout, once he has observed a place in the daylight, has some kind of an instinct that guides him to the same spot in the darkness.
Sergeant Hal had not gone far when the rain began to descend. There were distant rumblings of thunder, but no lightning. For this he was thankful. He hoped to be behind the Moro lines before lightning began to flash.
Two wanderers in front of the enemy's lines would be sure to excite suspicion, while two seeming natives behind the lines would attract little attention.
Presently Sergeant Overton dropped to his knees, peering ahead and listening keenly, as he crept along. Sergeant Terry imitated his chum. Hal crawled within fifty feet of the mouth of the gully, just a little south of it. After a moment's pause he obtained his bearings and extended one arm in silent direction to Noll.
Then they crept noiselessly into the mouth of the gully. So far they had not been hailed, but this was not positive proof that human eyes were not watching their movements.
Once inside the gully they moved, cautiously, still on hands and knees, halting after every advance of two or three feet. They were shivering in their thin raiment, for the rain was heavy and cold. Noll's teeth were all but chattering.
"I don't believe the gully is guarded at all," whispered young Overton in his friend's ear. "This place looks so like a trap that few military commanders would ever think of leading men into it in the dark. I figure that the datto thought this gully not worth guarding by night."
"The slopes above us on either side may be well guarded, however," warned Noll.
"Yes; and you can wager that we'll know all about that before we try to go back to camp," returned Hal. "The place to start such an investigation is from the rear of the enemy's lines."
"All right; lead on."
They had gone another hundred feet into the gully when Hal Overton stopped again. Now he rose to his feet.
"We'll walk through," he whispered. "I don't believe we will run into any of the datto's men hereabouts. If we do, leave it to me to do the first talking."
"Jersey hog-Latin?" queried Noll, with a grin.
"Of course; Spanish or English would be fatal to fellows who look the part that we're rigged up to play."
Hal walked on, steadily, though with caution. Noll kept a few feet behind him until the gully widened, then stepped to his chum's side.
Neither spoke. There was danger in unnecessary conversation. They had covered six hundred feet more when they felt, rather than saw, that they were nearing the further end of the gully.
At last they stepped out into the open—then received a sudden shock. Less than a dozen feet away a Moro sentry, rifle on shoulder, halted, regarding them keenly.
"Manu batto dobi kem," murmured Hal to his chum, in a low voice. Noll answered in the same low tone. Both were shaking with more than the chill of the rain, but Hal turned to the sentry, inquiring mildly:
"Hoppo tuti sen antrim mak?"
The Moro sentry shook his head. He did not understand that dialect.
"Basta morti hengo pas tum," murmured Hal regretfully, hesitating before the sentry.
"Manga tim no troka," remarked Noll.
Hal turned slowly, nodding at his chum. Then both strolled along, the sentry merely staring after them.
"That's the advantage of scouting within the lines of an enemy where many tongues are spoken," whispered Noll in his chum's ear.
The Army boys had not gone twenty feet, however, when they ran into another Moro sentry, who stood under a tree evidently trying to keep out of the rain.
This sentry addressed them with two or three words in the Moro tongue.
"Banda nokku him slengo mat," replied Hal.
Again the sentry spoke to them, accompanying his words with a gesture that seemed to order them to pass on. The Army boys were glad enough to obey.
"We're right in the middle of the hornet's nest," whispered Noll.
Fifty feet further on the Army boys came upon a rudely built shack under which a number of brown men were huddled to escape the rain.
"The outpost crowd," whispered Hal. "Noll, I believe we're getting into the heart of the Moros' camp."
Noll was about to answer, but at that moment discerning another sentry, a few yards ahead, checked his reply. This sentinel they managed to pass without words. Being well within the enemy's lines now, and apparently natives themselves, the Army boys were not as likely to attract suspicion to themselves.
A heavier downpour of rain drove the young scouts for a moment under the spreading branches of a large tree.
"This job is almost as easy as stealing the marmalade from mother's preserve closet," chuckled Sergeant Noll, despite his discomfort.
"This place is like a good many traps," replied Hal. "It seems easy enough to get in, but remember, boy, we've got to get out."
As soon as the rain slackened somewhat the two scouts sauntered on again. Here and there they passed rude shacks in which Moros and allied natives were sleeping. Then the young scouts came upon a new scene that made them fairly catch their breath.
They were standing by a mud wall now, a wall of about nine feet in height. There could be no doubt that this was a Moro fort, erected for a particular purpose, and Hal's active mind immediately fathomed that purpose.
"The datto's own headquarters!" he whispered in his chum's ear. "Oh, Noll, I hope that I am right!"
Terry nodded. He was as excited as was his comrade.
The wall, as well as the Army boys could judge, was more than two hundred feet long. About half way down they came to a gate. Here six Moro sentries, armed with rifles and protected from the storm by woven rush raincoats, stood on guard.
Hal boldly stepped nearer, for the sentries were already regarding this straying pair of natives. Noll, with a quick catch in his throat, stepped after his chum. It looked like running into almost certain death, for aside from the six sentries there were hundreds of Moros within call.
"Bola mak no benga?" demanded Sergeant Hal, with an impudence and cool assurance that he was far from feeling.
One of the Moro sentries looked at the Army boys, grinning and shaking his head. Then laying two fingers across his mouth as a sign for silence, he pointed inside the mud-walled enclosure.
"Him hasta putti datto?" asked Hal, in a low voice.
"Datto" was the only word the Moro could make out, but he understood that, and again pointed inside.
"Banga tim no satti du," remarked Hal softly to his chum. Then Sergeant Hal bent low, making an elaborate bow before the gateway. Noll Terry "caught on" and followed suit. The Moro sentries grinned. Nor did they offer any objection when the Army boys strolled off into the tempest-ridden darkness.
"Now, what?" whispered Noll, as the Army boys halted under a tree.
"Noll, the biggest game in the world, now—to get back out of the trap into which we've stepped!"
"Noll, you remember the first sentry inside the gully at this end?"
"Yes."
"Have you the nerve to stay near him while I try to get back to camp alone?"
"I have nerve enough to do anything that a soldier may be called upon to do."
"I was sure of it," Hal replied.
"But what's the game?"
"You are to keep close to that sentry until just before daylight," continued Hal. "Then, if nothing happens, slip out and make your way back to camp as best you can. But if Captain Freeman allows me to lead the expedition through that gully, you are to be on hand to silence that sentry at the first sound of our coming."
"I think I can do that," Sergeant Terry replied thoughtfully. "I'll either win out or give up my life without a murmur."
"Noll, if you prefer it, you can try to reach camp, and I'll stay by that first sentry inside the gully."
"No, Hal; I think you are far more apt to succeed in reaching camp than I. I'm satisfied with the second part in the game. Both parts are big enough."
"Very well! Good-bye, chum. Take care of yourself!"
They had yet a little distance to go before they came upon the Moro sentry beyond the inner mouth of the gully. As they approached him they strolled along in leisurely fashion.
The sentry, who appeared to be a good-natured, rather stupid fellow, surveyed the chums with a grin. He pointed to the sky, then made a motion of shivering. Clearly this native believed the pretended brown men to be foolish fellows for remaining out in such a downpour.
"Hastu maki not," observed Hal.
"No beni," replied Noll, and Hal stepped away in the darkness. He did not appear to be headed for the gully, but Noll distracted the attention of the sentry for a few moments, and out of the corner of his eye Terry caught a glimpse of Hal's body moving into the mouth of the gully.
A moment later Hal was out of sight and sound. Noll and the sentry stood side by side. Presently, as neither could understand the other's speech, Noll and the Moro fell to "conversing" by means of signs. Yet, in this line, they could go little beyond the weather. Noll presently made a hit with the real brown man by shaking his fist in the direction of the American camp, then drawing his hand across his throat with an eloquent gesture of throat-cutting.
Sergeant Hal Overton not only got out of the gully, but also satisfied himself that the slopes were not guarded.
"As the gully looks like a natural trap, and the datto has at least four hundred men between himself and the gully, I suppose old Hakkut is not worrying a great deal," reflected Overton.
Hal did not now trouble himself to move so stealthily, until he neared the American encampment. With noiseless step he approached and called out in the darkness:
"Officer of the day!"
"Halt! Who goes there?" called an alert soldier.
"Sergeant Overton, in scout disguise," Hal returned. "I wish to return to camp."
"Advance, Sergeant Overton, to be recognized."
Thus assured that he would not be shot down by mistake, Hal walked slowly but openly in the direction of the voice from the trench.
"If you can recognize me, Galbraith, you're a wonder," laughed Hal, as he came within the soldier's range of vision.
"You, Sergeant Overton. Great Scott, I don't recognize anything but the voice. I know that, however; pass on, Sergeant."
Hal went at once to Captain Freeman, whom, however, he had to awaken. Lieutenants Prescott and Holmes were quickly added to the lightning conference that followed.
The officers listened almost in amazement to the yarn that Sergeant Overton rapidly spun for them.
"We made no mistake in detailing you two sergeants to investigate the position of the enemy," remarked Captain Freeman warmly. "Now our course is clear. You understand my plan, gentlemen?"
The two young lieutenants quickly assented.
"We shall have to abandon our transport wagons, though I think we shall have no difficulty in recovering them later," went on the commanding officer. "Waken all the men, and have each man carry as much ammunition as he can pack. The Gatling gun goes with us, of course."
"And the wounded men, sir?" asked Lieutenant Prescott.
"Those still unable to walk will have to be carried on the same blanket stretchers. Caution these wounded men that, no matter what discomfort they may suffer on the trip, not one is to make a sound. Our lives are at stake. Now hustle, gentlemen! We must march from this position in less than twenty minutes."
"And the prisoners, sir?" asked Lieutenant Greg Holmes.
"Bind the prisoners and gag them, and do it effectively. We can't trust a prisoner on a dash like this. Leave them behind, but be sure that they can't effect their own escape. Gentlemen, I look to your effective aid in playing a most brilliant trick on the enemy."
Twelve minutes later the column started. They moved in three bodies. In advance were twelve picked men of B Company, under Sergeant Overton. Captain Freeman accompanied this little advance guard.
At a suitable interval behind marched fifty men under Lieutenant Prescott.
Last of all Lieutenant Holmes headed the remainder of the expedition. With this rear guard marched such of the wounded men as were able to walk. The others of the wounded were carried on blanket stretchers.
Silently, like a procession of ghosts, moved the American troops. The rain had moderated to a drizzle, but there was no star in sight to throw the least ray of light over the tropical scene.
Almost as straight as a bullet could have been fired Sergeant Hal led the advance guard to the mouth of the gully. There was no challenge, no shot fired by the enemy. A minute's halt; then the advance guard quickly followed Sergeant Overton into the gully, Captain Freeman stepping just behind the leader.
When they were two thirds of the way through, Sergeant Hal, who was still in his native costume, held up his hand as a signal to halt. The signal was passed back through the advance.
"I think you'd better wait here a few minutes, sir," whispered Hal to the commanding officer. "I'll hand my rifle to one of the men and then stroll forward to see if the coast is clear."
"A good plan, Sergeant; but take mighty good care of yourself!"
"Yes, sir. If you hear sounds of trouble up ahead then I suppose you'll push right on through."
"If there's any sound of trouble, whatever, Sergeant, you can depend upon our rushing through."
Saluting, Overton turned and slowly vanished into the darkness ahead. Just as he came out of the gully Hal heard a cautious, warning:
"Sh-sh!"
The muzzle of a rifle was thrust to his breast.
"Noll?" whispered Hal.
"Yes," whispered Terry.
"Where's the real sentry at this point?" breathed Hal.
"The poor fellow was chilled through. I got chummy with him, talking sign language, and then volunteered to stand duty for him. The Moro has gone off to take a sleep where it's drier."
"Bully, old Noll!"
"The troops are behind you, Hal?"
"Yes."
"Then march them ahead straight on for a hundred yards due west. You won't run into any of the enemy there. I've made it my business to know."
Hal flew back to the advance guard.
"Fine!" glowed Captain Freeman, when he had heard the report.
The advance was quickly in motion. Captain Freeman was soon up with Noll, who, after whispering, led the advance to the point he had mentioned to his chum. Hal, in the meantime, remained to receive and pilot Lieutenant Prescott's command.
"How on earth did you do this?" demanded Prescott in a whisper.
"Some of Sergeant Terry's work, sir," whispered Hal. "When you're ready, sir, just keep on straight ahead until you come upon the advance. I'll remain here, sir, if you permit, to warn the men behind you that they're marching inside the Moros' lines."
"Do so, Sergeant," directed Lieutenant Prescott, at the same time making the motion for his men to move ahead. On came the rest of the command in single file.
"Softly," warned Hal, as the men passed by him. "You're inside the enemy's lines."
Then, as the last man passed him, Hal whispered:
"Fall out, Gleason. Remain here to warn the rear guard when it arrives."
"All right, Sergeant. But this kind of work in the dark makes one creepy. I feel as though I were robbing a judge's chicken-roost."
Hal laughed softly and hurried after the vanishing troops. Within a few minutes more the rear guard had arrived.
By this time the rain had begun to come down again in torrents, but this favored the work of the American troops.
Led by the two young scouts, the entire command managed to advance, undetected, to a point from which Captain Freeman could dimly make out the mud walls of the datto's fort.
"Take the same twelve men of the advance guard, Sergeant Overton," whispered Captain Freeman, after he had given directions regarding the carrying of the wounded so that they would be as well protected as possible from slashing by Moro swords or creeses during the attack about to be made. "With your men, Sergeant, gain the gate of the fort. Remember, at no matter what cost, you must get your party inside and hold the gate. We'll be on the spot the moment we hear the first sound of your attack."
"Now, then, men," Hal instructed his own detachment, "we won't march forward, and we won't skulk, either. We'll simply stroll along. The instant that I hear any sound showing that we're discovered, I'll give the order to charge. When that order comes—remember that we simply must fight our way through the gate of the fort."
Then he gave the order for the forward movement. Hal placed himself at the head of his detachment, the post of greatest danger.
It was raining so heavily that even the guards at the datto's gate had relaxed their vigilance.
So Sergeant Hal Overton was within thirty feet of the gate when one of the six sentries, peering outside, caught sight of him, yelled and held his rifle at aim.
"Detachment charge!" yelled Sergeant Hal Overton.
With a low-uttered yet enthusiastic yell the twelve regulars piled in after their sergeant.
There was short, sharp firing at the gate. Then the Americans drove that guard in, killing four of them and holding the gate.
Now there was wild yelling inside the fort. Lights flashed from the principal building in the enclosure. Sergeant Hal waited only long enough to realize that Lieutenant Prescott's command had come up when he shouted to his own men:
"Follow me to the datto's house! He's the fellow we want."
Fifty natives howling wildly had thrown themselves around the house of the Datto Hakkut and had opened fire on the soldiers by the time that Hal and his few men reached the spot.
"Fight your way through 'em, men!" commanded Hal.
"Bring your men back, Sergeant!" shouted Captain Freeman in Hal's ear. "We've got the Gatling ready. I'll show you something better."
Swiftly the regulars dodged back. Sergeant Noll was at the breech of the Gatling.
R-r-r-r-rip! rattled out that rapid-fire machine, and the fire swept mercilessly into the ranks of those who defended the datto.
Lieutenant Holmes had gotten the wounded inside the walls. Now, with his efficient men he had turned to guard the gate, for outside, hundreds of frantically-yelling Moro fanatics had gathered for the attack on the invaders.
Into the closely packed ranks of the brown men who sought to defend the datto's house the Gatling poured its raking fire with fearful effect.
Whatever the issue of this madly fought battle, it began to look as though the Datto Hakkut were doomed.
"Have your men fix their bayonets, Lieutenant Prescott!" commanded Captain Freeman. "Fall in, men! We'll take the datto on the rush!"
As the Moros, reinforced by two score more who had rushed to the aid of their leader, drew up for a last desperate stand before the house, the door opened.
A stream of light from inside illuminated the scene.
Out bounded a man past middle age and of imposing appearance. Not even his rich costume and flashing jewels were needed to proclaim that this man was the datto himself.
Behind Hakkut came another and younger man, the datto's sword-bearer.
Hakkut was carrying his own heavy, straight-edged sword. For a moment or two he stood blinking upon the scene of carnage and death below him as he halted on his porch. Then his gaze swept to the regulars behind the machine gun, standing alert with bayonets fixed, ready for that solitary word "charge!"
Instantly the datto turned and shouted something to the younger man with him.
In another moment the datto had placed the hilt of his sword against the flooring of the porch, the point of the weapon up. The younger man knelt swiftly, holding the sword in this position. Drawing back, the Datto Hakkut hurled himself forward with great force, falling upon the point. Then he tottered sideways, tumbling to the floor of the porch. The younger man without hesitation drove a needle-pointed creese three times into his ruler's breast. Withdrawing the knife, the sword-bearer then killed himself.
"Charge, Lieutenant Prescott!" called Captain Freeman.
"Charge!" repeated the lieutenant. The line of bayonets swept forward, but news of the death of the datto had already reached his would-be defenders. The regulars swept through, meeting little resistance, for hope had left the Moros with the passing of their savage prince.
In a twinkling the datto's house was in the hands of the regulars. Now a corporal's guard could have held it, for the Moros inside the fort who were still capable of fighting were throwing down their weapons in despair.
"Round the prisoners up, Lieutenant Prescott," commanded Captain Freeman. "I'll take some of your men and the Gatling to the gate to help Lieutenant Holmes."
In truth the Gatling was now sadly needed at the gate, for Lieutenant Holmes was having the fight of his life. Swarms of fanatic Moros were attempting to rush the small party of regulars.
The Gatling, placed in a position commanding the gate and sweeping all in front of it, soon checked the desperate attack at this point. The Moros could yet swarm the walls on all sides, however. The fight was far from won.
There was a chance still to close the huge wooden gate, and this Captain Freeman, with a few of his men, succeeded in doing just as the Gatling was withdrawn.
Suddenly it occurred to Captain Freeman that the night was passing and that the first dull light of day was creeping over the scene.
At the commanding officer's side Sergeant Hal Overton reported, saluting and saying:
"Sir, I have a suggestion to offer."
"State it, Sergeant."
"It seems like an almost dastardly thing to do, sir, but the death of the datto stopped the fighting inside. Wouldn't it be a good plan, sir, since the datto is assuredly dead, to have his body placed upon the top of the wall and hurled over to the Moros outside? When they behold that sight they may feel that their cause is gone."
"That is the best suggestion that could be made. You attend to it, Sergeant."
"Very good, sir."
Lieutenant Prescott paused for a moment in the shelter of the datto's porch. It had been warm work, and the young West Pointer was mopping his face with his handkerchief.
At this juncture Hal appeared with four men.
"Pardon me, sir," he said, saluting the lieutenant, "I am acting by Captain Freeman's orders."
With that the young sergeant pointed to the datto's body. The four men lifted it, carrying it from the porch. Prescott asked no question, but watched with interest what followed.
Across the yard Hal's squad bore the datto's body, to a point of the walls where the regulars were making their fiercest fight to repulse the Moros outside.
"Two of you climb up on the wall," Hal ordered. "The other two pass the body up."
This was done.
"Over with it," Sergeant Hal commanded, and the body was hurled to the ground outside.
An instant later there was a shout that was soon changed to a wail. In the growing daylight several of the Moro fighters had recognized the grisly message that had been hurled to them. Half a dozen fighting men dropped their weapons, picked up the datto's body and hurried off with it to a grove beyond.
Within two minutes the fighting had stopped. The Moros had fled to the grove, from which a loud, nerve-racking wailing now ascended.
Captain Freeman climbed to the top of the wall.
"We could wipe them out by the hundreds with the Gatling now," he remarked grimly. "However, I fancy it won't be necessary."
In half an hour the wailing of the Moros had ceased. They had gone farther away, and the regulars were content to remain behind the walls. While half of the effective troops were left on the walls, the other half prepared and ate their breakfast from the abundant food supplies found in the fort. After that the other half breakfasted.
That forenoon Lieutenant Holmes was sent out with a scouting force of thirty men. Two hours later he returned, stating that he had been unable to find any signs of the enemy.
In the afternoon Lieutenant Prescott and thirty men marched back to camp. There they found the transport wagons and horses uninjured, and returned with them to the fort after having set the half dozen native prisoners free.
"I fancy the cruel war is over, gentlemen," remarked Captain Freeman that evening to his two younger officers. "These Moros, like other semi-savages, fight with heart only when they have a great leader. In this way, the Datto Hakkut was a great man. For ten years he has been the scourge of northern Mindanao, but now we shall have a rest from him. He will never again disturb the peace of the island."
Early the following morning Lieutenant Prescott was sent out at the head of forty men, Hal and Noll accompanying him. Unless attacked by superior force this detachment was to remain out all day, scouting through the country for signs of the enemy.
In the morning two native villages were found close to the principal road through the mountains. As the natives appeared to have no weapons, and offered no trouble, they were not molested.
"You may be sure, though, Sergeant Overton," remarked Lieutenant Prescott, "that very nearly all of the men we have seen so far to-day served lately under the datto. However, if they have learned a lesson, and are now bent on peace, we won't molest them."
In the afternoon, as the detachment, moving at route step, reached the crest of a hill those in advance came upon a party of Moros camped in a grove by the road. These men, perhaps fifty in number, were preparing a meal. They displayed no weapons.
"These men were undoubtedly recent fighters, too," remarked Lieutenant Prescott. "However, we'll look them over to make sure that they have no weapons now."
Hardly had the two sergeants started on their tour of inspection when one man leaped suddenly from his seat on the ground and made off on a run.
"There's the man we want!" yelled Hal. "Vicente Tomba, I call upon you to halt and surrender!"
But Tomba, for it was he, continued to run fleetly.
"Bring that man down, if he won't stop!" commanded Lieutenant Prescott sternly.
"Halt, Tomba, or we fire!" shouted Hal. "Ready, men! Aim! fire!"
Seven rifles spoke, almost in unison. Vicente Tomba pitched forward, then fell. When examined he was found to have received four bullet wounds. As he was dead, the soldiers buried him then and there.
"Men who are found in Tomba's company are subjects for suspicion," remarked Lieutenant Prescott dryly. "Though we've found no weapons with this crowd we'll round 'em up and take 'em in."
This was done. Captain Freeman decided to read these natives a lesson and then let them go.
"Why not make the rascals most humbly salute the Flag, sir?" suggested Sergeant Overton respectfully. "I still have the Flag that the Moros insulted."
"A good idea," nodded the commanding officer. "Get the Flag, Sergeant."
Over the late datto's fort the Stars and Stripes soon fluttered. The troops were paraded to do the emblem honor. Then the Moro prisoners were forced to pay it humble reverence, after which they were allowed, on their hands and knees, to crawl out of the fort and find their liberty outside.
"I'm sorry the datto didn't live a little longer," murmured Sergeant Hal to his chum. "I'd have enjoyed seeing him salute the Flag fifty times and then crawl away on his knees."
The following morning Captain Freeman marched his column back over the many miles that lay between them and Bantoc. On a later morning of the march the dusty column passed Draney's plantation. That adventurer boldly hailed the officers as the troops marched by.
"I hear you've killed the datto," was the planter's greeting.
"Yes," responded Captain Freeman dryly. "There are a few others, though, who deserve the same fate."
"We'll mix it up with that scoundrel yet," muttered Hal to his chum.
Back in Bantoc all was quiet again. Cerverra had been released with a reprimand that he was not likely to forget. Now that the datto was gone, the spirit was lacking for insurrection, and that part of Mindanao settled down to quiet.
For how long? Undoubtedly the reader will discover in the next volume of this series—a volume that will be filled with the lively doings of our Army in the Philippines. This great tale will be published under the title, "Uncle Sam's Boys on Their Mettle; Or, A Chance to Win Officers' Commissions." In this forthcoming narrative the reader will meet several old friends and will renew their acquaintance in the most startling situations.