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Now he gave up the idea, for Sergeant Hal's tone and manner made it very plain that treachery would prove but another name for suicide. "Then look out, Señor Sergente, that when I open the door there is no rush on the part of my brave ones." "Whether you or they plan the rush, it will be the end of the world for you, Tomba," Overton warned him steadily.
All have been in a like position before drawn up to fire upon prisoners, their countrymen. The patriots of their country, too; for the followers of Gil Uraga are all of them picked adherents of the parti preter. "Sergente!" asks Uraga, on coming forth from his tent, "is everything ready?" "All ready," is the prompt reply.
With two other soldiers Hyman darted into the shop, from which they soon came out with Cerverra, who protested strongly. Meanwhile Vicente Tomba had discovered a cause of discomfort. "Señor Sergente," he complained, "during our struggle in the cellar you knocked my cigarettes from my hand. I beg that you let one of your soldiers take this piece of money into a shop and buy me more cigarettes."
They must not overhear the conversation which he intends holding with his captives; and to prevent this a plan easily suggests itself. "Holla!" he hails a trooper with chevroned sleeves, in authority over the others. "Step this way, sergente." The sergeant advances, and saluting, awaits further speech from the colonel. "Order boots and saddles!" directs the latter.
It was so restful, sitting here, that when he had disposed of the second order, he paid his account but did not rise at once. "The sergente is newly arrived here?" asked a white-clad Filipino, rising from another table and joining Overton. "Yes." "Then you have not seen much of Bantoc?" asked the Filipino, speaking in Spanish.
When Tomba came to himself again, after a few moments, he found the youth in Uncle Sam's Army uniform leaning over him. "I have the creese, Tomba," warned Overton. "You can guess what a sound or a move that is not permitted will mean to you!" To do his courage full justice, Tomba showed himself no coward. "You have the upper hand, Señor Sergente. But it will do you no good."
Though Hal did not know it, from the window of one room in a house that he passed a pair of unusually bright, keen eyes glared out at him. "That is he, the sergente, Overton," growled Vicente Tomba to himself. "Since we have Señor Draney's orders that the sergente is to leave this life as soon as possible, why not to-day? He is going to Bantoc, where it will be easy to snare him.
"Yet I am quick, Tomba, and before they can finish me, I shall have settled my score with you for good and all." "And thrown away your own life?" "You forget that I am a soldier, Tomba. I am inclined to feel that it will be worth even my own life to make sure that you are where you can no longer plot against the American Government." "But your own life, Señor Sergente?"
"Abuse me all you please, Señor 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!
If you have time, Señor Sergente, I am walking that way and will show you the place." "Thank you; I'll be glad to go," answered Hal, rising promptly. His was the profession of arms, and a display of any unfamiliar weapons was sure to attract the young sergeant. Juan Cerverra, despite his Spanish-sounding name, proved to be a full-blooded Moro.
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