That he was not American born he felt quite sure; that he was of alien extraction he was ready to venture upon a wager; but that did not say that John Miller was not an altogether reputable person. For there are thousands of alien-born Americans who are now in the American ranks fighting against the nation which threatens the liberties of all the free peoples of the world. The man's eye absorbed the thoughts of the sentry.
"Same sort of gleaming optic," he said. "Now where? This gets me! I——"
He suddenly halted and grounded his rifle, the butt-end striking the hard earth with a clang. One hand grabbed the muzzle just below the bayonet, while the other went to his waist, where the thumb stuck within his belt. Then a low deep-drawn whistle escaped from between the pursed-up lips of the sentry. He shouldered his weapon, and, turning abruptly, walked with even more decided step toward the guard-tent.
"Sergeant of the Guard!" he called.
Presently a man, taller than himself, with tin hat tilted somewhat over his eyes, turned out of the tent and approached him.
"Aye?" he asked, in brusque yet kindly tones; "what now, Dan? Somethin' special?"
Dan! Could Larry and Jim have caught but a glimpse of this fine young fellow, what shouts of joy they would have given. How they would have rushed towards him and gripped his hands. For this Dan was none other than their chum away in Salt Lake City at the copper-mine—the same Dan whom Heinrich Hilker had shot down in that famous encounter. And here was a coincidence! Dan, recovered of a desperate wound—thanks to his magnificent physique and wonderful health—had volunteered, and had followed his chums across the water. Here he was—tin-hatted, arrayed in khaki, drilled, and thoroughly well informed in matters pertaining to modern warfare—on sentry duty, and for a moment face to face with the man who had done his best to kill him. More than that, that man was a spy—none other than Heinrich Hilker—and Dan, with the swiftness for which he was notorious, had recognized him.
True, the fleeting glance he had obtained of this ruffian as he peered at his face under the thin beams cast by the moon-crescent had given him hardly even an inkling, but it had set some odd corner of his brain at work, had stirred, as it were, some cell in his cerebral matter, which, since the affair in the mine, had until that moment been lying dormant. Dan had caught a glimpse of Heinrich Hilker in a similar way when the light had been thrown full upon him in the heart of the copper-mine, just before Dan himself had been put out of action by the bullet he had fired, and now this second fleeting glance recalled that old memory, and that memory had developed to the point where he recognized that he, Dan, had information of the utmost importance.
"Well, Dan," repeated the Sergeant of the Guard. "Report, eh?"