regulars. On a charge, however--in close, hand-to-hand
fighting--these Malays are not to be despised. They always fought
hand-to-hand in the old days, and it's in their blood."

With that expression of his views, Prescott, aided by his acting first
sergeant, began to hustle the soldiers into line around the house,
forming the men in a rectangle at about fifteen yards distant from the
walls of the building.

The soldier of to-day must often fight lying on his stomach. These men
of B Company crawled to their stations, dragging their rifles after
them.

Pop! pop! pop! The Moros were watching, and fired from time to time,
irregularly. A prostrate man is hard to hit at a few hundred yards.
These pot-shots serve to bother and irritate soldiers getting into
position.

As soon as each soldier was in place he began burrowing with his
intrenching tool. It is surprising how quickly a man lying down can dig
a little ditch and throw up the dirt on the outside.

First, each man dug his own ditch. As soon as he had this completed he
connected his ditch with that of the men next to him. Within thirty
minutes the men of B Company, without having a man hit by the pot-shots
of the enemy, were well intrenched. From time to time some of the
soldiers, under orders, ceased their digging to take a few shots
themselves, just to keep the Moros from growing too bold.

As soon as the encircling trench had been dug Prescott detailed four
men, with picks and shovels furnished by the elder Seaforth, to throw up
a trench wall in front of the main door of the house, so as to permit
any one safely to enter or leave the house by that door.

"That'll do, Sergeant," nodded Lieutenant Prescott at last.

"It would take a three-inch field piece, sir, to make an impression on
this wall of dirt," smiled Sergeant Hal.

"Now, I'll look after this part of the ground, Sergeant; you go around
to the south side--and be vigilant."

Hal Overton stepped out from behind the wall, carrying his rifle in the
hollow of his left arm. As he showed himself above the low wall of the
regular trench, exposing his head and trunk, the Moros began to take
notice.

Pop! pop! pop! Bullets struck all about the young sergeant, sprinkling
dirt over him.

"Keep your head below the top of the trench wall, Sergeant!" called
Lieutenant Prescott sternly. "We can't afford to have you hit. Shield
yourself. Don't be afraid of any one suspecting you of cold feet!"

So Hal, though