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 65 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.”