"It's a marvel," gasped Trent, after having taken a pocket electric light and by its rays examined the young ensign. "I believe every one of those Mexicans aimed at you."
"It seemed so, sir," Dave laughed.
Danny Grin had already gone, and without orders. The instant he was satisfied that his chum was uninjured Dalzell had leaped away in the wake of the party led by the boatswain's mate. Now Dan was climbing in through the window, helped by two seamen who had been left on guard outside.
But the search of the house revealed only one dead Mexican, not in uniform, who had been killed by the sailormen's fire, and a trail of blood that must have been shed by the wounded enemy as they were carried away.
"Bandits—-Cosetta's men—-not soldiers, this time," was Dan's instant guess.
The miscreants and their wounded, as the blood trail showed, had escaped by way of the rear of the house. None were in sight by the time the Americans reached the back yard.
"Shall we pursue, sir?" asked the boatswain's mate, saluting.
"In what direction?" asked Dalzell, scanning the ground. "The rascals can run faster than we can follow a trail of blood. But you may go back to Lieutenant Trent, report just what we have found, and bring me his orders."
"Lieutenant Trent believes that you are not likely to catch up with the fugitives, and there would be danger of running a handful of men into a cunning Mexican ambush," the petty officer reported, two minutes later.
After that the night dragged slowly. Trent allowed some of his men to sleep in doorways an hour or so at a time, but there were enough sailormen awake to handle any sudden surprise or attack.