“Sergeant, I have a plan and I need your experience and advice to carry it out. That old sultan is a fiend, and I am going to get him!”
“That’s been tried many times, sir, and he is still ahead of the game.”
But after Lewis had talked rapidly for a few minutes, disclosing the plan that was slated to best his majesty, a smile broke over the weather-beaten features of the sergeant, and he slapped his thighs in appreciation.
“Well, sir, we can try it, and if it does work, headquarters will flood you with thanks; if it fails, and I warn you it might, you will be cut into hash either by the sultan or the war department.” This was good advice from the old soldier.
“I know it, Sergeant, but I am going to take the risk if you are with me.” The enthusiastic young man dashed out of the tent to make the necessary preparations for the great event.
Christmas morning dawned sultry and heavy. The mist lifted after reveille and the troops were astonished that the Sabah had disappeared. Their surprise was greater to find a corporal in charge of the camp. There was a positive order that no trooper should enter the barrio, and an air of mystery hung over the whole camp. Where was the gunboat, the lieutenant, the sergeant, and the interpreter, Piang? The corporal shook his head to all these questions.
Suddenly rapid firing was heard in the direction of the barrio, and every soldier seized his gun and ran into the company streets, but the corporal, calm and undisturbed, dismissed them.
Nervously the men wandered about; the two wounded men became the center of attraction and related for the hundredth time their sensations when the juramentado had struck them down. They were not seriously wounded, but the cruel cuts were displayed, and they did not prove an antidote to the tenseness of the situation.
The firing had ceased after about ten minutes, and new sounds took its place: wails and shrieks, the crackling of bamboo, told the story of the burning village. But who had attacked the town? The corporal smiled to himself, quietly.