Part 23 (1/2)

”Here comes a flag of truce,” said Gilbert, presently, as a rebel appeared, holding up a white rag. ”If I were you, I wouldn't honor it.”

”I would like to hear what they have to say,” replied Ben, quietly.

”But remember how they fired on the other flag of truce,” insisted the young Southerner. ”You'll be running your head into a lion's mouth.”

”Sorrel, keep that man covered,” said Ben. ”I won't move out any further than he does.”

”If you go, I'll go with you,” said Gilbert, promptly.

He would not be put off, and together Ben and he moved into the opening, Ben holding up a new handkerchief as he walked. The rebel at once halted, as if expecting them to come over to where he stood.

”You come over here!” cried Gilbert, and waved his hand.

There was a full minute's delay, and then of a sudden the rebel threw down his white flag and sped toward the house. At the same time three reports rang out, and Gilbert fell back, struck in the shoulder.

”What did I tell you!” he gasped. ”They are treacherous to the last degree!” And then the young Southerner fainted.

As just mentioned, three reports had rung out, but only two had come from the house. The third came from Ralph Sorrel's weapon, and the man who had carried the pretended flag of truce fell dead in his tracks.

The dastardly attack angered Ben beyond endurance, and leaving Gilbert resting comfortably on some cut cane, he leaped to the front. ”Come, boys, we will root them out!” he cried, and ran on toward the house as fast as he could, firing as he went. Sorrel was at his heels, and the others fired, each ”red-hot” as they afterward expressed it.

The insurgents saw them coming and fired several shots, but n.o.body was struck, and in a trice the house was surrounded. Then Major Morris came bounding through a window, and it was Ben who cut his bonds with a pocket-knife.

”I saw it all,” exclaimed the major. ”Go for them, men, every one of the rascals deserves death!” And stooping over the dead rebel, he took from his bosom a bolo and joined in the attack. ”They are a pack of cowards--a mere set of camp followers.”

The major was right; the rebels in the house were no regularly organized body, and at the first sign of real peril they fled by the back way, over a ditch and straight for the nearest jungle. But our friends were determined that they should not escape thus easily, and pursued them for nearly half a mile, killing one more and wounding three others. Long afterward they learned that those who had thus forfeited their lives were bandits from the mountains back of San Isidro. They had joined the forces under General Aguinaldo, merely for the booty to be picked up in the towns through which the rebel army pa.s.sed.

As soon as the contest had come to an end, Ben hurried back to where he had left Gilbert. The wound from which the young Southerner was suffering was painful, but not dangerous. Yet it was likely to put Gilbert in the hospital for the best part of a month.

”It's too bad--I thought I could see the thing through to the end,”

said Gilbert, shaking his head dolefully.

”You'll have to take your dose as I did,” answered Ben. ”I am glad it is not serious. Our regiment couldn't afford to lose such a brave fellow as you.”

”Brave? Didn't I hang back until you proposed to go out alone, Ben? If anybody was brave, it was you,” and then Gilbert turned his face away to conceal the pain that was coming on.

The hospital corps was so busy that Gilbert could not be carried back of the firing line for some time. Feeling that there would be no more fighting that day, Ben decided to remain by his old chum, and requested Sorrel to do likewise, leaving the others to accompany Major Morris back to the command proper. In the meantime, a skirmish line was stretched to the north of the cane-brake, that the insurgents might not regain any of the lost territory.

It was frightfully hot, but scarcely had Major Morris left with his party than a faint breeze sprang up which gradually increased to a fair-sized wind. Making Gilbert as comfortable as possible under some of the tallest of the cane, Ben and Sorrel sat down beside him to do what they could to help him forget his pain.

The three had been sitting in the shade for the best part of half an hour, and Sorrel was sharpening his knife on the side leather of his shoe, when, glancing up, Ben noticed a peculiar cloud in the sky overhead.

”That looks rather queer,” he remarked. ”Does that denote a wind-storm, Sorrel?”

”It denotes something, that's sartin,” responded the mountaineer, surveying the cloud with care. ”It's something I ain't seed out yere yit,” and he leaped to his feet.

The cloud was about as large as a barrel in appearance, and of a deep black color. It seemed to be whirling around and around, and as it came forward began to expand. Then it shot off to the southward, but not out of sight.

”I'm glad it's gone,” said Gilbert, who had roused up to watch the strange thing. ”I don't want to get caught in a western cyclone--and that cloud looks like those I have heard described.”