“O’Neil’s hat,” he cried, a terrible dread in his voice. “There’s been foul play here.”
“Juarez’s house,” said Sydney aghast, “and O’Neil is inside alone.”
They looked about for assistance. There was none nearer than the foot of the hill, where a company of infantry were encamped.
“What shall we do?” questioned Sydney in despair. “They may murder him; and if we attempt to force an entrance they could dispatch us without fear of detection and we would do O’Neil no good.”
“Come,” cried Phil clutching his companion’s arm and dragging him away. “You go down to that camp and ask for aid. I shall stay here and keep guard. They undoubtedly thought he was alone, and if they haven’t already seen us we may surprise them.”
Sydney found the soldiers only too willing to aid them and he soon returned with a lieutenant and thirty men.
Phil quickly explained the situation. The lieutenant stationed his men about the house, surrounding it on all sides.
Phil and Sydney knocked heavily on the door; there was no answer. They tried to force it, but it was of stout material and doubly barred on the inside.
“A battering ram,” Sydney cried. The willing soldiers soon brought a huge log of wood and after a few minutes’ pounding the door flew inward in pieces.
With drawn revolvers and followed by a file of soldiers they entered the gloom of the house.