“I have no further use for my other rôle, since your meddling of yesterday,” Juarez replied savagely.
“And I suppose,” answered Phil in as cheerful a voice as he could muster, “we must be hereafter three American naval men.”
“That shall not save you,” the vice-consul growled. “General Ruiz will be delighted to meet the men who have cheated him out of his machine guns. With those guns he could take the city this minute.”
“We have done what any honorable men would do,” Phil began hotly, but Juarez turned his back with an expressive shrug of his heavy shoulders.
“Here, sergeant,” he called, “arrest these spies.”
The worst had happened. They had met the one man Phil had hoped he could avoid. Their reason for being there Juarez of course surmised, and he could defeat them by having them locked up in an insurgent dungeon until the city had fallen.
Five or six soldiers came menacingly toward them, bayonets fixed. Phil saw the futility of resistance. He made the sign of surrender, but the soldier nearest O’Neil was a little overzealous in the use of his bayonet. The sailor’s Irish blood was aroused; with a swing of his powerful fist he sent the man reeling backward, stretching his full length on the white road.
CHAPTER IX
A TERRIBLE PREDICAMENT
The rash act of the sailor placed the lives of the three men in jeopardy. The soldiers snatched up their rifles and closed in menacingly.
At this moment, however, a cavalcade appeared suddenly, and the cry of “Viva General Ruiz,” filled the air. The soldiers near the Americans fell back sullenly, leaving their captives alone in the middle of the road.