Colonel Juarez arose and read in a monotonous voice from a paper in his hand. Phil understood it to be the order of General Ruiz, convening the court for their trial as spies. Juarez sat down in silence.
“What have you to say in your behalf before we pass sentence?” he asked coldly, turning to Phil as spokesman.
Phil’s throat was dry. He tried to speak but could not find voice.
Juarez turned hastily to his companions. Each nodded his head in assent; the trial was finished and the accused men found guilty.
Hot blood rushed to Phil’s face as he comprehended the awful import of this hasty verdict.
“You dare not carry out this sentence,” he cried wildly, jumping to his feet. “It will be murder. We are not spies. Our country is not at war with yours. True, we are here to find out the strength of your forces, but it is not to take this information to your enemy. If you do this monstrous deed you will place yourself beyond the pale of civilization”—his indignation choked him. “I claim my right of appeal to General Ruiz,” he demanded fiercely.
The court sat unmoved. On Juarez’s features was a grim expression of enjoyment.
“Take them away,” he ordered, rising to dismiss the court.
As the guards advanced upon the prisoners, a voice from the door stilled the room. The officers of the court clicked their heels together at “attention,” and the guards brought their rifles quickly to the “present.” Turning, Phil’s gaze encountered the steely eyes of General Ruiz.
The insurgent commander walked calmly forward, motioning the guards away.