"There's a bed in the house for you, whenever you wish it to-night,"

announced Mr. Seaforth, stepping outside.

"Thank you, sir, but when in the field I sleep with my men. I shall spread my poncho and blanket on the ground presently. Sergeant Overton, I leave you in command until half past one in the morning. At that hour rouse me, report, and then turn in yourself."

"Very good, sir."

"Of course, if anything turns up in the meantime, you'll call me."

"Yes, sir."

For some minutes more the two young Americans stood listening for sounds of possible trouble which Kelly and Slosson might have encountered. Then the lieutenant spread his bed and lay down without removing any of his clothing, placing his revolver beside him on the ground.

Hal set guards on all sides, while the rest of the men turned in, which they were glad to do.

Another army now invaded them! Mosquitoes--myriads of them--buzzed busily about, seeking whom they might devour! The mosquito of the Philippines is well ent.i.tled to be called an insect of prey. He is a big fellow, tireless, always hungry and a valiant fighter. The men who lay on the ground carefully wrapped themselves in their blankets, with their hands tucked in. Their heads and necks were protected by collapsible nets that they had taken from their haversacks.

For those who were up and on duty the torment of the flying pests was acute. There was little danger of a sentry going to sleep without a head net and some protection for his hands.

"Ain't it awful, Sarge?" demanded Private Bender, as Hal paused near him.

"That word isn't strong enough," grinned Hal ruefully, as he "swatted"

at mosquitoes three times in quick succession.

"I don't mind the Moros," continued Bender, "and I try to be a good soldier, but I'm afraid I'd surrender to the 'skeets' if they had intelligence enough to recognize the white flag."

"We get only two years of this at a time," laughed Sergeant Hal. "Then we can go back to the United States for a vacation."

"I used to think, back in G.o.d's country, that a soldier's day and night were full of work," remarked Bender wistfully; "but I'd rather go back there and go to work than have to stand these 'skeets.'"

"They're not so bad in barracks," Hal answered. "It's only in the field that the pests can torment us like this."

"From present signs," commented Private Bender, "I'm thinking that we'll put in a large part of our two years in the field. These Moros are ugly and determined when they get started."

"They're not bothering us much just now," replied Hal, as he started on his round of inspection.

Nine o'clock came and pa.s.sed. Not a shot had been fired since late in the afternoon. Nor had there been any sound to indicate that Kelly or Slosson had encountered trouble near the plantation. Now that he was in command, Overton did not allow himself to be lulled into indifference by the stillness of the dark night. A sleeping volcano might start into eruption at any moment. At every important point along the trenches Hal paused, using the night gla.s.s that the lieutenant had loaned him.

Ten o'clock came and pa.s.sed without trouble. Then eleven and finally midnight pa.s.sed. Sergeant Hal, however, was not to be caught napping. He resolved to be vigilant until Lieutenant Prescott relieved him.

Hal had just glanced again at his watch, noting that the hour was nearly one, when a quiet voice reached him:

"Private Bender calls the sergeant!"

Hal Overton ran quickly around to the place where Bender stood peering off into the darkness.

"Use your gla.s.s yonder, Sarge," urged the soldier. "See if you see anything moving."

"I do," Hal answered quietly. "I see figures crawling out of the woods, headed this way. Pa.s.s the word to rouse every man without noise. Then go to Lieutenant Prescott, with my compliments, and report that the enemy seem to be crawling this way."

Barely had Bender disappeared when Lieutenant Prescott came up on a quick trot.

"Starting things, are they, Sergeant?" the officer whispered.

"Here's your gla.s.s; look over there, sir."

Lieutenant Prescott looked quietly for a few seconds. Then he turned to whisper:

"Pa.s.s quickly along the lines, Sergeant, and order every man to load his magazine. Instruct the squad leaders not to let their men get rattled and shoot too soon or too fast. This move may be only a ruse."

Bringing his hand smartly to the brim of his campaign hat, Sergeant Overton was off with the orders. He soon returned, however, and took up his position beside the lieutenant.

Then, in a twinkling, scattering Moro volleys sounded on the other side of the house, followed by wild, savage yells.

"That's probably a ruse to draw us around there," muttered Prescott.

"Sergeant Dinsmore is there in charge, and he'll know what to do. Good!

He's attending to it."

For now the sharper tones of the Army rifles began to rip out on the further side of the house.

Suddenly another volley of shots rang out on the near side of the house, showers of bullets driving in.

"Lie down, Sergeant!" ordered Lieutenant Prescott, falling back.

"Are you hit, sir?" asked Hal anxiously.

"No, no; look after your fire control. Let your men fire whenever they see anything to hit, but not in volleys. Shoot sharp, men!"

Hal's regulars, crouching in the trench, needed no further orders. They could now see, dimly, the figures of the oncoming Moros, advancing by rushes.

The enemy's fire became so heavy that Lieutenant Prescott decided it to be an act of prudence to crouch down himself, though he lay against the trench wall, his head and arms fully exposed as he kept the night gla.s.s to his eyes.

"Low aim, men!" warned Hal, as he pa.s.sed behind the firing line.

"Careful with every cartridge. Every brown man you hit is one less to meet with cold steel!"

This is one of the first lessons that the soldier must learn on the firing line. Every cartridge that he fires needlessly means one less shot with which to defend himself. Every man he hits is one less to be reckoned with later.

"Don't fire heavily until the rascals get nearer," was Sergeant Hal's next warning. "Those fellows are not very dangerous until they get close. Then we'll have need of cool gun barrels and plenty of cartridges. Steady!"

"That boy has the making of a commander in him," thought Lieutenant Prescott approvingly. "He's cool and all business. The only thing in the world that he's thinking of is how to make the squad work count. He isn't losing his head."

Night firing is always uncertain. It is too dark to see the end sight on the rifle and advancing figures show uncertainly, like wavering shadows.

"Don't fire so fast," called Hal, as the rifle work of the troops became more brisk. "Fire just enough to annoy the rascals. Save your real work until the enemy are within a hundred and fifty yards."

"Whee! When the goo-goos get that close they'll jump in and scalp us!"

muttered a young soldier nervously.

Hal crouched beside the young soldier, resting a hand on his shoulder.