t in his place.

This was pleasant for the squatting American officer on the bridge
to behold.

After patiently waiting in deep suspense for more than half an hour,
he noticed the substituted sentry stand his rifle against a tree and
sit down. A moment later his head fell forward and he was asleep.

Determined to learn more of the enemy's position and strength,
"Carabao Bill," inch by inch, silently slipped across the bridge
and to the edge of the trench, a few yards to the left of the
sleeping sentry. Here he made a rapid survey of the insurgent camp
and position. Hundreds of them were lying stretched in sleep behind
the shelter of the earthworks.

His mission accomplished, he slowly turned to the unconscious sentry,
thinking to secure the Mauser rifle as a trophy of the trip; but he
had no more than grabbed it when the man awoke with a start, and,
like a flash, whipped out a shining bolo. Before the native had
time to use his weapon, "Bill" raised the rifle above his head, and,
with a powerful blow that resounded through the midnight air, sent
him reeling over the trench among his slumbering companions. Then,
with a shout that would tend to raise the dead, he began to empty
his revolver into the rapidly awakening rebel soldiers below.

Quick-witted Sergeant Schriner had no sooner heard the blow of the
rifle and the shout of his commanding officer, till he had taken in
the situation.

He gave the order for a charge; and this small band of Uncle Sam's
men rushed like demons, screaming and yelling like maniacs, toward the
little bridge--then over it, and began to pour an awful, close-range
fire into the confused mass of humanity beyond the trench.

The effect was magical. The drowsy enemy, taken unawares, routed and
disorganized, beat a disgraceful retreat. In vain their officers tried
to make them stand; but the thought uppermost in every man's mind
was how to get to a place of security in the quickest possible time.

In less time than it takes to tell it; there were no Filipinos on
the scene of action, excepting the dead and wounded. The number of
these, considering the darkness of the night, did credit to American
marksmanship.

The sound of retreating feet was occasionally broken by the reports
of a poorly directed volley by a few of the bolder characters, who
had the rare nerve to halt and fire at the audacious "Yankees."

The situation was ridiculous. Sixteen men had charged and taken a
well-fortified