g."

Another landing party, from the "_Florida_," moved up to position
about a block away from Trent's small command.

"I don't mind fighting," sighed Dan, ten minutes later, "but waiting
gets on my nerves."

All the time small detachments of sailors and marines were moving
gradually through the lower part of Vera Cruz, moving from one
point to another, and always the leading detachments went further
from the water front.

At last Trent, receiving his signal from a distance, marched his
men up the street, away from the fortress of San Juan de Ulloa.

Only a quarter of a mile did they march, then halted. Fully three
hundred Mexicans followed them, and stood looking on curiously.

"I wonder if any one ashore knows the answer to the riddle of what
we're doing," sighed Danny Grin.

"We're waiting orders, like real fighting men," Dave answered, with
a smile.

"But there isn't going to be any fighting!"

"Where did you get that information?" Dave asked.

Noon came; no fighting had been started. By this time nearly
every officer and man ashore believed that the Mexican general
at Vera Cruz had decided not to offer resistance. If so, he had
undoubtedly received his instructions from Mexico City.

More minutes dragged by. At about fifteen minutes past noon, shots
rang out ahead.

"The engagement is starting," Dan exclaimed eagerly to his chum.

"The shots are so few in number, and come so irregularly, that
probably only a few Mexican hotheads are shooting," Dave hinted,
quietly. "Troops, going into action, don't fire in that fashion."

"I wonder of any of our men are firing back."

"All I know," smiled Darrin, "is that we are not doing any shooting."

Pss-seu! sang a stray bullet over their heads. Only that brief
hiss as the deadly leaden messenger sang past.

Pss-chug! That bullet caught Dalzell's uniform cap, carrying
it from his head to a distance some forty feet rearward.

"Whew! That gives some idea of the spitefulness of a bullet,
doesn't it?" muttered Danny Grin, as a seaman ran for the ensign's
cap and returned with it.

"It must be that I didn't get iron-rust enough on this white uniform,"
commented Dalzell, coolly, gazing down at the once white uniform
that he had yellowed by a free application of iron rust. "My
clothing must still be white enough to attract the attention of
a sharpshooter so distant that I don't know where he is."

Still Trent held his command in waiting, for no orde