As the three came nearer the solitary cannon, pointing its frowning muzzle menacingly toward them, several figures suddenly appeared from the shade of a hut by the roadside, and peered at the approaching Americans. One then left the group and advanced slowly toward them.
The travelers saw by his uniform that he was an officer.
“Good-afternoon,” Phil called politely in Spanish, taking off his hat.
The officer saluted and gazed questioningly at the three men.
“What is your business here?” he inquired brusquely in his native tongue.
“Oh, we are just out for a tramp,” Phil replied lightly. “You fellows are so persistent in your siege, that our legs were beginning to get soft in the city, so we thought we’d come out and stretch them.”
The officer smiled, pleased at the compliment to the army in which he was an officer.
“English?” he asked, relenting.
“Yes, travelers,” Phil replied suavely; “we are getting news for European papers.” This, Phil thought, was rather clever and not untrue, either, for what they found out would in time find its way to European newspapers.
“Ah!” exclaimed the officer delightedly, who like all his race saw no good in fighting unless his valor would be heralded to the world, “you are just in time to see a grand battle. We are waiting now the order to attack. General Ruiz expects a number of machine guns; when they arrive we shall enter the city in triumph;” his voice rose with excitement. “You will see the greatest battle of the century; there will be many killed: you are lucky to be with us.”