In a moment the boys were all interest, forgetting their own troubles in their anxiety for their wounded companion.
Phil pulled a first-aid bandage from his pocket and held it up in triumph.
“They took everything else from me,” he exclaimed; “your new revolver, too, Syd.”
“Yes, and the first time we carried them,” Sydney answered ruefully, as they made the boatswain’s mate bare his wound, which they washed and dressed carefully.
They had hardly finished their solicitous attentions when the door of the cell was unlocked and flung open: Colonel Juarez appeared.
He stood in the doorway, his arms folded, a cruel smile curling his weak mouth.
“You defeated me once,” he jeered, “but I shall see that you will never get a chance again.”
The crestfallen lads only stared. They could find no voice to answer. The hatred in his eyes appalled them.
“No doubt you believed yourselves very clever,” he continued, irritated at the silence of his hearers, “but if it will make you feel any better, I can tell you that your brilliant work has but delayed us. We shall possess the arms soon enough.”
Both lads were startled at this intelligence. Could it be true? Phil could not conceive how Lazar would have the audacity to deliberately allow the arms to be taken. Where were Marshall and Morrison? Then he realized that they were in ignorance of the true character of their superior officer. They would suspect nothing. Why had he not put them on their guard?