Kelly sprang to Hal's aid. Between them they lifted the wounded stranger to a seat on their arms. The man put his arms about their necks, and thus they conveyed him to a broad armchair on the porch.

"My man, there, run for a hospital steward," shouted Captain Cortland.

Then the post commander came to the wounded stranger.

Now that he found himself at the end of his journey the stranger appeared to lose rapidly the strength of his voice. He lay back in the chair, his eyes half closed.

"Where do you come from, friend?" asked Captain Cortland.

"The Seaforth Plantation."

"I know where the place is--twelve miles from here, in the interior,"

answered the captain.

"Right," murmured the wounded one.

"Your name?"

"Edwards. I'm bookkeeper and correspondent for Mr. Seaforth."

"Platoon fours right, march!" sounded from the parade ground.

Edwards heard the command, then the steady whump-whump of the feet of marching men. The wounded man turned in his chair and gazed at the detachment marching away in quick time behind Lieutenant Holmes.

"You act quickly, Captain," murmured Edwards gratefully.

"Those men are marching to Bantoc to keep order in the town," replied Captain Cortland. "Tell me, as quickly as you can, what is wrong at Seaforth's."

"We were attacked just before daylight this morning," Edwards replied weakly.

"In force?" pressed the post commander.

"Just at a guess there must have been two or three hundred of the Malay fiends."

"Any of the defending party killed?"

"Not when I left, Captain. But four of our native Moro laborers were shot dead before they could reach the main house. The main house was being defended by Seaforth when I left."

"How many white men there?"

"Seaforth, his son, his superintendent and a blacksmith."

"They all escaped into the house at the attack?"

"Yes."

"Any natives helping Seaforth in the defense?"

"Yes; eight of the most trusted Moro workmen. But, Captain, you never can tell when you can trust any of these natives."

"I know," murmured Cortland, nodding his head.

At this moment the hospital steward arrived on the run, carrying a case of instruments, bottles and bandages. There was no surgeon-officer at Fort Franklin, the post commander being compelled to rely, at need, on a German physician in Bantoc.

"Get right to work, steward," ordered Captain Cortland. "And I must question this man while you work over him. Edwards, are there any American women at Seaforth's?"

"Three."

"Good heavens!" uttered the captain, paling.

"Mrs. Seaforth, the superintendent's wife, and Miss Daly, the school teacher."

"How did you get away?"

"The Moros didn't appear to be in force on the side toward the stable, and I wriggled through in the dark, traveling flat on my stomach. I reached a horse at the stable, saddled fast, and then galloped away just as the Moros turned loose a volley that covered the noise of the horse's hoofs."

Edwards's voice was becoming much weaker. He paused frequently between words. The hospital steward, standing behind the wounded man, glanced up at Captain Cortland, shaking his head.

"Was the road infested with roving parties of guerillas?" inquired Captain Cortland.

"No, sir," replied the bookkeeper. "I didn't run into any trouble until I reached Bantoc. The natives here must have known that the trouble was coming, for concealed rascals fired on me just as I got alongside the town. They wounded me and my horse."

The other officers, with the exception of the absent Lieutenant Holmes, were now at the porch, listening quietly.

"Freeman, I must keep the rest of your company here," explained Captain Cortland. "And Hampton, your duties here are such that I can't very well spare you from post. So I shall have to send Lieutenant Prescott to Seaforth's. Lieutenant Prescott, a.s.semble the company without an instant's delay."

There was little need to speak of delay. Every soldier left on the post and not engaged in actual duty was as near to the spot as he could be, for all were interested in this latest news.

"Mr. Prescott, don't take the time to march your men to the parade ground. a.s.semble B Company right here. Pick out the sixty men you want.

Sergeant Overton will help you. Take sixty men, two days' rations and a hundred and fifty rounds of cartridges per man. Take blankets, ponchos and shelter tents. Detail your men and be ready to march at the earliest possible moment."

As the call for formation sounded Edwards uttered a fervent:

"Thank heaven!"

The hospital steward forced a draught of medicine down the wounded man's throat.

Quickly the sixty men were detailed, those who had been on sick report lately, or those who for any other reason were unfitted for a long, swift march being rejected.

"Detachment, fall out," ordered Lieutenant Prescott. "Sergeant Overton, see to the equipping of the men for this hike. Don't let any man idle any time away. I'll soon be with you in barracks, for minutes may be invaluable."

Edwards had fallen back once more, lying with his eyes closed. The hospital steward, one hand on the wounded one's pulse, looked at Captain Cortland and shook his head.

"Mr. Edwards," called the captain.

There was no answer.

"Is he dead?" asked the post commander in a low voice.

"No, sir, but he is unconscious and there's only a feeble flutter at the pulse."