Part 6 (1/2)

”What shall I do?” the boy asked himself, and gazed hurriedly at the surroundings. To one side of the road were several nipa huts, to the other a long, rambling warehouse. The doorways of all the buildings stood open, and no one seemed to be in sight.

As quickly as he could the youth took up his friend and staggered with his heavy burden to the warehouse, which was about half filled with rice. Entering the structure, he pa.s.sed to a small apartment somewhat in the rear. Here there was a quant.i.ty of old sacking in a heap, and upon this rude couch Larry placed the unconscious form.

The boy had been taught on s.h.i.+pboard just what to do in case of such an emergency, and now he worked as he never had before, for Luke was very dear to him, and the thought that his friend might die was horrible to contemplate. He prayed to Heaven that the old gunner's life might be spared to him.

The wound was an ugly one; yet even to Larry's inexperienced eye it did not look as if it could be fatal, and the boy breathed a long sigh of relief as he bound it up. Then he went in search of water, and finding a well back of the warehouse brought a bucketful in and began to bathe Luke. Soon the sufferer stirred and opened his honest eyes wonderingly.

”Why--er--how's this?” he stammered. ”Did I--oh, I remember now!” And he sank back again.

”Keep quiet,” whispered the boy. He had heard voices coming toward the warehouse. ”If you make a sound, it may be all up with both of us.”

The old tar breathed heavily and nodded. Throwing some sacking over the prostrate form, Larry slipped back into the main apartment of the warehouse. He still held the gun, but it was empty and could be used only as a club.

Two men were approaching the warehouse, both tall, slim, and evidently of Spanish extraction. They were talking loudly and excitedly to one another; but as Larry understood but few words of Spanish, what they were saying was lost upon the boy.

”I don't believe they are after us,” thought the lad, when the strangers came to a halt just outside the warehouse. As they did so a long volley of rifle shots came from a distance, followed by another and then another. The shooting came from the centre of the town and made Larry's heart beat fast. ”Our soldiers must be coming in,” he thought. ”Oh, I hope they make the town ours!”

The shots appeared to disturb the two Spaniards greatly, for both clutched each other by the arm and looked thoroughly frightened.

Presently an old woman came running out of one of the huts. She yelled at the two Spaniards in her own tongue and pointed at the warehouse.

Evidently she had seen Larry and Luke, but had been afraid to expose herself.

The strangers listened to the old woman with interest, then began to talk to each other. ”Perhaps we can get some information, Jose,” said one, in Spanish.

”Perhaps we shall get a bullet,” answered his companion, grimly.

Nevertheless, he consented to enter the building, and both pa.s.sed through the great doorway of the warehouse.

Hardly knowing how to receive the newcomers, Larry stepped for a moment behind a bin of rice. But then, as the pair moved toward where Luke lay, he raised his gun threateningly.

”Halt!” he called, as sternly as he could. ”Halt, or I shall fire!”

”We are betrayed!” roared one of the Spaniards, in his native tongue.

”No shoot! no shoot!” he added, in broken English. ”We mean you no harm.”

”Up with your hands, then,” went on Larry, resolved to make the most of the situation, even though the gun was empty; and four hands went promptly into the air, for the two men before him were as cowardly as they were unprincipled.

There was an awkward silence for several seconds, while boy and men surveyed each other. Larry lowered the gun slightly, but still kept his finger on the trigger. He noted that the newcomers appeared to be unarmed, although they had both knives and pistols hidden upon their persons.

”You are an _Americano_ sailor, not so?” asked one of the Spaniards.

”I am,” was Larry's prompt reply. ”Are you one of Aguinaldo's rebels?”

”No, no! We are no rebels--we are peaceful Spanish gentlemen,” put in the second Spaniard.

”Do you belong here?”

”I belong here,” said the man who had first spoken. ”My brother, he belongs at Manila.”

The brother mentioned shot an angry glance at the speaker. ”Yes, I come from Manila,” he said. ”But I belong truly in Spain, being a merchant of Madrid.”