"Yes; thanks to your detail," replied Noll.

"But I couldn't help the detail, old fellow. Fatigue was for you in your turn. I'm sorry it came to you to-day, though, for I've a pa.s.s and I'm going to run over into Bantoc. I want to see more of that queer little town."

"Going to be back for parade?"

"Yes; my pa.s.s extends only to parade. I never want to miss that when I can help it."

Hal glanced at his watch, then back at barracks, where hardly a soldier showed himself, for all had caught the spirit of indolence in this hot, moist climate of Mindanao.

"Well, I must be going, Noll. Don't work your fatigue party too hard until the men get used to this heat."

"Small danger of my working 'em too hard," laughed Noll. "It's only as a sort of special favor that the fellows will work at all."

Hal, with a nod to his chum, stepped out on to the hard, level, white road that led from Fort Franklin to Bantoc.

It was a pretty road, shaded at points by beautiful palms; yet the shade was not sufficient to protect the young soldier all the way into town.

Ere he had gone far he found it necessary to carry his damp handkerchief in one hand, prepared to mop his steaming face.

"Mindanao is certainly some hot," he muttered. "It keeps a fellow steaming all the time."

Yet there was plenty to divert one's thoughts from himself, for along this road lay some of the prettiest small farms to be found on northern Mindanao. Instead of farms they really looked more like well-kept gardens.

"It's the finest spot in the world to be lazy in," thought the young sergeant, as he glanced here and there over the charming scene. "If I settled down here for life I'd want money enough to pay other fellows to do all the work for me."

Though Hal did not know it, from the window of one room in a house that he pa.s.sed a pair of unusually bright, keen eyes glared out at him.

"That is he, the _sergente_, Overton," growled Vicente Tomba to himself.

"Since we have Senor Draney's orders that the _sergente_ is to leave this life as soon as possible, why not to-day? He is going to Bantoc, where it will be easy to snare him. And his friend Terry is not with him. That pair, back to back, might put up a hard fight--but one alone should be easy for our _bravos_. Then, another day, we can plan to get the _Sergente_ Terry."

Hal was not quite in Bantoc when a Tagalo on a pony rode by him at a gallop. Hal glanced at the fellow indolently, but did not recognize him, as it was not Tomba, but one of that worthy's messengers.

Up and down the princ.i.p.al street Sergeant Overton wandered. He glanced into shops, though only idly, for to-day he was not on a buying mission.

At last the cool-looking interior of a little restaurant attracted him.

He entered, ordering an ice cream. When this was finished he ate another. It was so restful, sitting here, that when he had disposed of the second order, he paid his account but did not rise at once.

"The _sergente_ is newly arrived here?" asked a white-clad Filipino, rising from another table and joining Overton.

"Yes."

"Then you have not seen much of Bantoc?" asked the Filipino, speaking in Spanish.

"Not as much as I mean to see of the town," Hal answered in the same tongue.

"Then possibly, Senor Sergente, you have not yet seen the collection of ancient Moro weapons in the shop of Juan Cerverra."

"I haven't," Hal admitted.

"Then you have missed much, senor, but you will no doubt go to see the collection one of these days."

"I'd like to. Where is the shop?"

"Four doors below here. If you have time, Senor Sergente, I am walking that way and will show you the place."

"Thank you; I'll be glad to go," answered Hal, rising promptly. His was the profession of arms, and a display of any unfamiliar weapons was sure to attract the young sergeant.

Juan Cerverra, despite his Spanish-sounding name, proved to be a full-blooded Moro. He wore his Moro costume, with its tight-fitting trousers and short, embroidered blouse. There were no customers in the shop when Hal and his Tagalo acquaintance entered.

In another moment Sergeant Hal was deeply absorbed in several wall cases of swords and knives, all of them of old-time patterns. It was a sight that would have bewildered a lover and collector of curios of past ages.

One case was filled entirely with fine specimens of that once-dreaded weapon, the Moro "campilan." This is a straight sword, usually, with a very heavy blade, which gradually widens towards the end. This is a heavy cutting sword, and one that was placed in Sergeant Hal's hands, though Cerverra claimed that it was two hundred years old, had an edge like a razor.

"How much is such a sword as this?" Hal inquired.

"Forty dollars," replied Cerverra.

"Gold!"

"No; Mex."

Hal felt almost staggered with the cheapness of things here, as compared with the curio stores in Manila. Forty dollars "Mex" meant but about twenty dollars in United States currency.

"I have some cheaper ones," went on Cerverra. "Here is one at eighteen dollars."

"I'm going to have one of these campilan," Hal told himself.

In his interest he did not note that the Tagalo who had brought him to the shop had left him and was standing on the sidewalk outside.

"Are you interested in these creeses?" inquired Cerverra, pa.s.sing down the shop and pointing to another wall case.

The creese is an ancient Malay knife, with a waved, snaky blade--a weapon with which the Malay pirates of the past used to do fearful execution.

Hal stepped before the wall case. "They are very interesting looking,"

he replied. "What does a good creese cost?"

The young sergeant did not wait for an answer.

Click! A spring bolt on the under side of a trap door on which he was standing shot out of place.

Down dropped the trap door with such suddenness that Hal Overton did not have even time to clutch at anything.

Then the trap door, relieved of his weight, flew back into place.

Sergeant Hal shot down a steep incline, too smooth for him to be able to stay his downward progress.