"What did you want of me, when you sought my acquaintance?" demanded Hal.

He had suddenly become seized with a desire to prolong the talk with this little brown monster--to gain time!

"There was something that you could have done for me," replied Vicente Tomba.

The Tagalo, like others of his race, was not averse to talking, either.

The little Filipino knew that he had the whole situation in his hands.

With the cruelty of a cat, Tomba delighted in the feline pastime of playing with a victim that could not escape him.

"What did you want me to do?" Hal asked almost blandly.

"I wanted your services."

"Yes, but what kind of services?"

"What is the use of telling you--_now_?"

"Tell me one thing, though, Tomba."

"Why?"

"Just to gratify my curiosity," explained Sergeant Hal, and he spoke slowly while his eyes watched those of the Filipino. "Did you want me to betray my Flag?"

"Not the Flag itself."

"But, in some way, you wanted me to turn against my comrades--to serve you and your friends at the expense of the United States Government."

"Yes," a.s.sented Tomba. "But do not think to deceive me. It is too late now to save yourself by promising what I would have wanted of you."

"I don't intend to serve you and your rascal friends at any price--at least, I haven't yet come to that decision," Hal added, in a more conciliatory tone. "However, I am curious."

"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 ground.

Then, all in an instant, Hal freed his right hand, clenched his fist and struck Tomba a staggering blow between the eyes.

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, Senor Sergente. But it will do you no good."

"No?" questioned Uncle Sam's young soldier. "Why not?"

"There is but one way out of here."

"And then?"

"To pa.s.s out that way you must go by a dozen of my men, and you can judge for yourself what that will mean."

"Yes; I have an idea," nodded Hal thoughtfully.

"Then you see the folly of thinking you can escape?"

"No; I am thinking that your men will be able to get me."

"To be sure."