ous."

"Curiosity can do you no good now," retorted Tomba softly, with a shrug
of his shoulders.

"What part is Draney playing with you brown-skinned men?"

Tomba again shrugged his shoulders, this time more mockingly.

"Senor Draney serves the same cause that I do," laughed the Filipino.

"And what cause is that?"

"His purse."

"Then, in other words, Tomba, you are not even a Filipino patriot. You
are merely a twentieth-century type of pirate."

"If you like the word," replied Tomba, in a tone of indifference.

Then he yawned--next placed the creese on the ground beside him, while
his right hand explored his pockets. He soon brought to light a package
of Manila cigarettes. Tomba's left hand produced a box of matches.

"Do you care for one last smoke, Senor Sergente?" inquired the Filipino
with mocking politeness, as he held out the package.

"Thank you; I never picked up the vice," Sergeant Hal answered, but he
said it good-naturedly, for he had an object now in not provoking the
enemy.

"So? You call smoking a vice?"

"The vice of pigs," declared Hal, but again he laughed good-humoredly.

"Oh, I do not mind your insolence," replied Tomba, striking a match and
holding it to the end of the cigarette in his mouth. "Abuse me all you
please, Senor Sergente."

"Thank you!"

Hal had had a desperate motive in gaining time by prolonging the talk.
As he lay on his side before the Filipino the young soldier had at last
employed his fingers in a way that he hoped would lead to his being able
to free his hands. And now the instant had come! His hands were free!

As he uttered that "thank you," Sergeant Overton suddenly summoned all
the muscles in his body to obey him in one frantic effort for safety and
freedom.

Like a flash he rolled, both of his bound feet kicking Vicente Tomba
and bowling over that astounded little brown man.

Like lightning the Army boy reached for the creese, and the finish of
that general movement found Sergeant Hal Overton sitting up and aiming a
desperate slash at the cord about his ankles.

It needed a second slash, and in that fleeting interval Vicente Tomba,
uttering a wild cry of rage, hurled himself upon the Army boy.

Hal Overton had now, however, entire control of his body. He engaged
with the little brown man in a desperate struggle. Over and over they
rolled, the Army boy controlling the battle and carrying them both
further from the creese that he had dropped on the gr