“He is not an enemy,” Phil cried, tearing off the insurgent coat of Juarez from the scantily clad sailor; “he is an American, one of my companions. We need his services badly,” the lad begged, throwing a glance up toward La Mesa.
“An American,” the doctor exclaimed in genuine surprise, bending at once over the senseless body. He then stood up and called for his assistants and together they carried him inside the hospital tent near by.
Phil, relieved of his charge, looked anxiously about for the lieutenant. He saw him returning with Sydney from their race after the automobile.
“Come quick, Syd, we want all these soldiers,” he shouted, turning back up the hill. The lieutenant waved his hand and gave rapid orders to his men.
Side by side the midshipmen raced back up the steep slope of La Mesa. Once at the top they stopped and waited impatiently for the soldiers.
“Have you told him of the machine guns?” Phil questioned his companion breathlessly.
Sydney nodded his head in the affirmative.
“Yes, he has orders to go immediately to Tortuga Hill with his company, but he wished to see the arms first.”
They were soon in the house peering down into the dark cellar. The lads knew that at least two of their enemy were guarding the tunnel and would open fire at the first man who descended the rope.
Sydney would have pushed his companion aside but Phil anticipated him and grasping the rope firmly he slid down until his feet struck the earth floor.