Lieutenant Prescott paused for a moment in the shelter of the datto's porch. It had been warm work, and the young West Pointer was mopping his face with his handkerchief.
At this juncture Hal appeared with four men.
"Pardon me, sir," he said, saluting the lieutenant, "I am acting by Captain Freeman's orders."
With that the young sergeant pointed to the datto's body. The four men lifted it, carrying it from the porch. Prescott asked no question, but watched with interest what followed.
Across the yard Hal's squad bore the datto's body, to a point of the walls where the regulars were making their fiercest fight to repulse the Moros outside.
"Two of you climb up on the wall," Hal ordered. "The other two pass the body up."
This was done.
"Over with it," Sergeant Hal commanded, and the body was hurled to the ground outside.
An instant later there was a shout that was soon changed to a wail. In the growing daylight several of the Moro fighters had recognized the grisly message that had been hurled to them. Half a dozen fighting men dropped their weapons, picked up the datto's body and hurried off with it to a grove beyond.
Within two minutes the fighting had stopped. The Moros had fled to the grove, from which a loud, nerve-racking wailing now ascended.