nning to the
Yankee sailor he found Luke kicking out vigorously with his foot.

"I couldn't keep still no longer, nohow!" burst out the old tar. "A
plagued rat came right up and wanted to nibble my leg, hang him. Who's
them air fellows out thar?"

But the Spaniards had already followed Larry, and were now gazing at
Luke in wonder. "Wounded, not so?" said one. "You were in the fight,
then."

"No, we escaped from the prison," answered Larry, simply. "We were
captured during last night. I wish I was sure we'd be safe here until
our soldiers come along." He turned to the old sailor again. "How do
you feel now?"

"Better, Larry, a heap better. But I ain't ready fer no more foot
races jest yet."

"Then we'll have to remain here. Or perhaps you had better remain here
while I go scouting around and see if I can find some of our soldiers,
or the ambulance corps."

"An' what o' these gentlemen?"

"We shall go, too," said one of the Spaniards. "Your friend will be
safe here--if he keeps hidden under the sacks," he added.

Waiting for the strangers to move first, Larry came behind them, still
holding the gun as though the weapon were ready for use. The men had
spoken fairly enough, yet there was that about them which did not
please Larry in the least. "They are regular rascals, or else I miss
my guess," thought the youth.

The roadway still seemed deserted. But far off they could see the
natives flying in several directions. Then from a distance came a
cheer which Larry knew could only come from American throats.

"Our soldiers must be over there," he said to the Spaniards. "Will you
come with me?"

The men hesitated, and consulted together in their native tongue. "I
do not know what to say," said one, slowly, and began to follow Larry
along the highway. Seeing this, the other came, too.

Suddenly a loud shout came to them from a thicket back of some nipa
huts, and instantly a band of insurgents burst into view, armed with
guns and bolos. They were firing as they retreated, and made a stand
on the opposite side of the road.

"Jose Lupez!" cried one of the officers of the rebels, addressing one
of the two Spaniards. "What do you here?"

"And have I no right here?" asked the Spaniard, sharply.

"Who is that with you?"

"My brother, Benedicto, from Manila, who was visiting me."

"He has betrayed us into the hands of the _Americanos_! If he--"

The rest of the sentence was drown out in a volley of musketry, and