t leg would never again be sound enough to
march with his comrades. Perhaps the man realized it, but he was a
soldier, and therefore made no fuss.

"You'll have to lie quiet, Danes," returned Sergeant Hal. "We'll get you
out of this."

Just then Private Kelly raised his head for a look at the adjacent
grove.

As he did so a shot rang out over in the grove and Kelly uttered an
exclamation of disgust.

"Hit, Kelly?" queried Sergeant Hal, stepping over to him.

Private Kelly spat out two loose front teeth and some blood.

"Ye see what happened, Sarge," retorted Kelly. "It's a good thing the
fellow drew a bead on me profile. But I ain't kicking at getting a
dentist's services for nothing. No, that ain't my kick."

"What is wrong, then?" laughed Hal.

"Why, that blamed bullet was hot, and the Moro made me swallow it! It
was so hot that it burned all the way down! Got any ice, Sarge?"

A burst came from a dozen distant rifles at once. Bullets tore through
the air around Lieutenant Prescott as he stood, still with his field
glass to his eyes. Looking around, however, he saw Hal standing, and
commanded severely:

"If you're through with your work, Sergeant Overton, lie down. Ready,
men, for just one volley. Load; aim--at the front timber line of that
grove. Fire!"

Hardly had the crashing volley ripped out when again the young officer's
voice was heard:

"Rise, forward, charge!"

This time the line moved with a yell, the two men who carried Danes
yelling as loudly as the rest.

"Halt! Lie down!"

They were within two hundred yards of the Seaforth house now. The front
door of that building had been thrown open, though no one appeared as
yet in the doorway.

It began to look as though the Moros had withdrawn, or else were waiting
for something, for no shots came from the enemy.

Again, at command, the detachment rose and rushed forward, this time
without cheering.

"Lie down!"

Uncle Sam's men dropped in their tracks, close to the house.

Now, Seaforth, the planter, appeared in the doorway.

"Captain, I hope I needn't tell you that you and your men are welcome,"
came Seaforth's greeting. He was hardly a middle-aged man, but three
years of planter's life in Mindanao had brought deep gray streaks into
his hair.

"I've a wounded man to bring inside," announced young Prescott.

"Bring him right in, sir; we'll make him as comfortable as we can."

Private Danes fainted while being lifted and carried int