"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, Senor Sergente?"

"My own life is less than worthless to me if I may be permitted to lose it in doing one last valuable act for the Flag of my country."

"You are boasting now!"

"As to that, Tomba, you will soon be in a position to know. And I warn you that the slightest sign of treachery on your part will be my excuse for ridding these islands of the disgrace of your presence."

"You are attempting too much," jeered the little brown man. "I see and I admit that you are brave, yet you are bound to lose."

"The time for talking is past, Tomba, and now we come to action,"

returned the Army boy, speaking slowly and easily. "Come, get upon your feet and obey every order of mine the instant that you receive it. In another minute or two you and I will be in the sunlight again--or else you and I have both already had our last glimpse of the light of day."

Tomba smiled, though he felt the mastery of this young wearer of Uncle Sam's uniform.

"Get up on your feet," ordered Hal. "Stand right before me, your back to me. Do you feel the point of the creese?"

"Yes," answered Tomba in a low voice, though the brown man spoke steadily.

"You will walk before me, very slowly. If you attempt to turn, or to disobey, I shall know what to do with this wavy-bladed creese. If you make a move to spring away from me, I shall show you how good a jumper I am--and then the creese! Now, walk, very slowly, toward the exit from this place."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Steady, Now, Tomba!"]

As they started Hal held the lantern with his left hand so that the rays of light flashed ahead of them.

Vicente Tomba walked to the far end of this underground room. As far as young Overton's eyes could see they were moving toward a blank wall.

"Halt!" commanded the young sergeant easily.

Tomba obeyed.

"You are taking me to a secret door?"

"It is so, senor."

"And you know how to open it?"

"Yes; it is simple."

"Then step to the door. But, Tomba!"

"Si, senor."

"Do not let any wild plan run through your mind that you will open the door suddenly, bolt through it and close it in my face. Do you still feel the creese? Well, I am on the alert!"

In truth that had been Vicente Tomba's very plan. 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, Senor 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.

"I will do my best, senor," replied Tomba in a voice well nigh as steady as the Army boy's.

Then he bent forward, pressing until he found a hidden spring. In the seemingly solid stone wall a large block of stone swung around on a pivot, disclosing a larger cellar room beyond.

"Steady, now, Tomba!"

Sergeant Overton flashed the lantern's rays over the Filipino's left shoulder.

Nor was it a rea.s.suring sight that the light of the lantern revealed to the young soldier.

Instead of a dozen brown-skinned men in the next room, there were eight, if Hal's hurried count was correct. Moreover, he believed them to be the same eight who had first received and bound him.

The most disquieting fact, however, was that five of the men wore revolvers at their belts, and a pistol usually has a knife at a disadvantage.

"Explain to them, Tomba," muttered the young soldier in English, "that any move of your own, or any move of theirs to help you, will be expensive for you. Warn them, for I am watching all the rascals at once and I shall not endure an instant's treachery or disobedience of my orders."

Tomba spoke to them rapidly, partly in the Tagalo and partly in the Moro dialect. Sergeant Hal listened, watched, waited in keen anxiety, for life and death hung on the issue.

CHAPTER VII

THE KIND OF MAN WHO MASTERS OTHERS

Every one of the eight sullen fellows stood as though rooted in his tracks.

While Tomba spoke none answered, but many baleful glances were cast at Sergeant Hal Overton of the Thirty-fourth Infantry.

When Tomba had ceased speaking two or three of the rascals spoke, slowly, briefly.

"What do the scoundrels say?" demanded the Army boy.

"They do not like the situation, senor."

"Can you blame them? Or can they help the situation in the new turn that it has taken?"

The Filipino shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, ask the brown pirates what they intend to do?"