“Your verdict, Colonel Juarez?” he demanded.
“Guilty. To be shot to-morrow at sunrise,” the colonel replied grimly.
Then turning toward the Americans, he surveyed them critically, a cunning gleam in his sharp black eyes.
“You may speak,” he said condescendingly, dismissing the court with an eloquent gesture, and waving back peremptorily the awaiting guards.
Phil endeavored to collect his scattered wits. He knew that his appeal would be their last chance for life.
“Well,” the general demanded impatiently, “be quick, I have but little time.”
Phil felt his body break into a cold perspiration. His heart sank within him. He saw his words must fall on barren soil. The whole attitude of this powerful, cruel leader was unfriendly.
“General Ruiz,” he commenced, intense earnestness in his young face, “you must not do this terrible deed. We have not intentionally done you harm. Our mission in your camp is not one of war, but only diplomatic in character. I cannot tell you its nature. Believe me when I say we are innocent of crime against the laws of war. We are not your enemies.”
“You are not my enemies!” exclaimed the leader savagely, his voice rising in anger. “Then why did you capture my machine guns? Explain that, if you can?”
Phil was silent. He could not tell this man the reason; to do so would betray his country’s policy.