"I wish with all my heart that I knew, sir," replied the officer of the day, even more disturbed than his superior. "Last night I put Tomba in the cell and turned the key in the lock myself. Then I turned the key over to the sergeant of the guard. When I found Tomba missing, and this worthless object in his place, I made an investigation. The sergeant of the guard declared that the key had not been out of his pocket since I gave it to him."

"Who is sergeant of the guard?"

"Sergeant Jones, C Company, sir."

"And Jones is as honest, capable and energetic a man as we have in C Company," spoke up Captain Freeman, in defense of his sergeant.

"Have there been any visitors at the guard house this morning, Ray?"

demanded Captain Cortland. "Especially, any native visitors?"

"Yes, sir; so Sergeant Jones informs me. You know, sir, it has been permitted that native prisoners be allowed to have their friends come and bring them their native food and coffee."

"I know," nodded Captain Cortland. "But that rule, gentlemen, is revoked from this minute. Thanks to that rule Tomba has gotten away from us."

"I hope you don't suspect Sergeant Jones, Cortland," interposed Captain Freeman. "Because, if you do, I'm satisfied that you're doing the sergeant an injustice."

"I don't suspect your sergeant, Freeman. I am more to blame than any one else, for having allowed the old rule of my predecessor here to remain in force. Quite a group of natives came, eh, Ray?"

"Seven or eight of them, sir."

"Exactly," nodded Cortland, "and this wretched little half-price native was one of them. He was brought along on purpose. Probably he was threatened with having his throat cut if he didn't do what he was told by the scoundrels. Then, while some of the natives were pa.s.sing food and drink through the bars to Tomba and the prisoners, Jones must have had his attention attracted."

"Sergeant Jones remembers that he was called to the guard-house door for an instant," interjected Lieutenant Ray.

"Exactly, Ray, and at the same time a light-fingered native slipped a cunning brown hand into the sergeant's pocket and the key was taken. The cell door was swiftly unlocked, this native stole in, and Vicente Tomba stole out. Friends swiftly slipped Tomba one or two articles of clothing with which to help disguise himself. Then the whole party filed quickly out, and by this time Vicente Tomba is headed for the mountains and going fast."

"But Sergeant Jones found the key in his pocket, sir, when I asked him for it."

"Certainly, Ray. The little brown man who was clever enough to pick the pocket of the sergeant of the guard found it even less trouble to return the key."

"Cerverra didn't get away, anyway," muttered Lieutenant Ray, who had grown suddenly tired and careworn in appearance.

"Undoubtedly that's because Tomba is of more importance to the Moro plotters than Cerverra. Besides, Cerverra owns property here, and he can't well afford to be a fugitive from justice."

"What shall I do with this little wretch of a subst.i.tute, sir?" queried the officer of the day.

"Have you questioned this prisoner?"

"Yes, sir, and not a word will he say. He only shakes his head and pretends that he cannot understand a word of English or Spanish."

"Then take him back and lock him in the same cell," instructed the post commander. "Keep him there until he does talk."

"Very good, sir."

Barely had Lieutenant Ray reentered the guard house when two shots sounded on the road toward Bantoc.

"What's that? Trouble starting?" demanded Captain Freeman, darting to the door and listening.

"It may be only a shooting affray, but we must soon know," replied Captain Cortland.

All of the officers save Ray were now out on the veranda of the building.

Two more shots sounded, close together. Then came a light volley, sounding lighter still.

"It may be that Sergeant Terry is having trouble in town," muttered Captain Cortland, wholly alert in a second. "In any case we must let these Moros see a show of military force. Freeman, detail thirty of your men and let Lieutenant Holmes march them into Bantoc in quick time. Each man to carry fifty rounds of ammunition."

"Very good, sir.

"Lieutenant Holmes, you will go first of all to Cerverra's shop, unless the firing seems to be in another direction. But remember that if trouble breaks loose we will take care of it from here, and that your essential orders are not changed until you receive them from me, or from your company commander."

"Very good, sir," replied young Holmes, saluting.

Freeman and his second lieutenant hurried away to execute the orders without loss of time.

At the sound of the shots many of the men from barracks had run out into the street to see if they could find any explanation of the hostile sounds.

"Second platoon, C Company, fall in!" rang the order, repeated three or four times.

That caught several of the curious ones in the street, calling them to the parade ground.

Acting First Sergeant Hal Overton, B Company, was among those in the street. And he was the first to catch sight of a horse coming up the road at a wavering gallop.

"We'll soon know," the Army boy called to those nearest him. "This looks like a messenger coming."

The man who was astride the horse, and who was attired in white duck blouse and trousers, was bending forward over the neck of the animal.

"Second platoon, fall in!" rang Greg Holmes's command on the parade ground, showing how quickly military orders may be carried out.

"The messenger is bleeding," cried Hal. "I can see the stains on his white clothing. And the horse has been hit, too!"

"Trouble with a big 'T,'" muttered Private Kelly.

Sergeant Hal said no more. He walked quickly down the road as horse and rider drew nearer. The mount was running more feebly now. Fifty feet away from the young sergeant the animal pitched suddenly, staggered, then fell.

For an instant it looked as though the rider would also be stretched in the dust. Then he recovered, leaped painfully away from the horse--and just then Hal Overton reached and caught him.

"Shall I carry you, friend?" demanded the Army boy, for the stranger was a white man, doubtless an American.

At the stranger's belt hung a holster, the flap unb.u.t.toned. He was wild-eyed and breathing hard, but there was no sign of cowardice in the man's sternly set face.

Bloodstains showed over three wounds in the trunk of his body. The right shoulder, also, had been touched.

"I can walk--but give me your arm," gasped the wounded man. "Take me to your commanding officer!"

Hal started, but had not far to go, for Captain Cortland was coming forward on the run.

"Take that man to the porch of barracks," called the captain, whose eye, practised in wounds, saw much. "Don't make him walk far."