"This job is almost as easy as stealing the marmalade from mother's preserve closet," chuckled Sergeant Noll, despite his discomfort.
"This place is like a good many traps," replied Hal. "It seems easy enough to get in, but remember, boy, we've got to get out."
As soon as the rain slackened somewhat the two scouts sauntered on again. Here and there they passed rude shacks in which Moros and allied natives were sleeping. Then the young scouts came upon a new scene that made them fairly catch their breath.
They were standing by a mud wall now, a wall of about nine feet in height. There could be no doubt that this was a Moro fort, erected for a particular purpose, and Hal's active mind immediately fathomed that purpose.
"The datto's own headquarters!" he whispered in his chum's ear. "Oh, Noll, I hope that I am right!"
Terry nodded. He was as excited as was his comrade.
The wall, as well as the Army boys could judge, was more than two hundred feet long. About half way down they came to a gate. Here six Moro sentries, armed with rifles and protected from the storm by woven rush raincoats, stood on guard.
Hal boldly stepped nearer, for the sentries were already regarding this straying pair of natives. Noll, with a quick catch in his throat, stepped after his chum. It looked like running into almost certain death, for aside from the six sentries there were hundreds of Moros within call.
"Bola mak no benga?" demanded Sergeant Hal, with an impudence and cool assurance that he was far from feeling.
One of the Moro sentries looked at the Army boys, grinning and shaking his head. Then laying two fingers across his mouth as a sign for silence, he pointed inside the mud-walled enclosure.