The strangers listened to the old woman with interest, then began to talk to each other. “Perhaps we can get some information, José,” said one, in Spanish.

“Perhaps we shall get a bullet,” answered his companion, grimly. Nevertheless, he consented to enter the building, and both passed through the great doorway of the warehouse.

Hardly knowing how to receive the newcomers, Larry stepped for a moment behind a bin of rice. But then, as the pair moved toward where Luke lay, he raised his gun threateningly.

“Halt!” he called, as sternly as he could. “Halt, or I shall fire!”

“We are betrayed!” roared one of the Spaniards, in his native tongue. “No shoot! no shoot!” he added, in broken English. “We mean you no harm.”

“Up with your hands, then,” went on Larry, resolved to make the most of the situation, even though the gun was empty; and four hands went promptly into the air, for the two men before him were as cowardly as they were unprincipled.

There was an awkward silence for several seconds, while boy and men surveyed each other. Larry lowered the gun slightly, but still kept his finger on the trigger. He noted that the newcomers appeared to be unarmed, although they had both knives and pistols hidden upon their persons.

“You are an Americano sailor, not so?” asked one of the Spaniards.

“I am,” was Larry’s prompt reply. “Are you one of Aguinaldo’s rebels?”

“No, no! We are no rebels – we are peaceful Spanish gentlemen,” put in the second Spaniard.

“Do you belong here?”

“I belong here,” said the man who had first spoken. “My brother, he belongs at Manila.”

The brother mentioned shot an angry glance at the speaker. “Yes, I come from Manila,” he said. “But I belong truly in Spain, being a merchant of Madrid.”

“Well, our war with you folks is over,” said Larry, slowly, hardly knowing how to proceed. “If you are not going to help the rebels, you ought to help us. We are doing all we can for your prisoners out here,” he added, meaning the Spaniards that were being held by the forces under General Aguinaldo – soldiers who were captured during the struggle between Spain and her Philippine colonies.

“We can do but little,” came with a shrug of the shoulders. “We are not armed, and if we help the Americanos, Aguinaldo says he will behead all the Spanish prisoners he is holding.” Such a threat was actually made, but it is doubtful if the Filipinos would have been base enough to carry it out.

“We came in here not to make trouble,” went on the second Spaniard. “We came to learn what the firing means. Are the Americanos coming here in force?”

“They are.”

“Then Santa Cruz is doomed,” groaned the Spaniard. He dropped his hands and began to pace the warehouse floor. “I shall lose much if the city falls. The rebels will burn all my property, for they hate me.”

“I trust not,” answered Larry, his fear of the pair gradually leaving him. “Hark to that!” he added, as the rattle of guns was again heard. “Our men must be coming in fast, and orders are to save everything that can be saved. If the rebels – ”

He broke off short as a cry from Luke reached him. Running to the Yankee sailor he found Luke kicking out vigorously with his foot.

“I couldn’t keep still no longer, nohow!” burst out the old tar. “A plagued rat came right up and wanted to nibble my leg, hang him. Who’s them air fellows out thar?”

But the Spaniards had already followed Larry, and were now gazing at Luke in wonder. “Wounded, not so?” said one. “You were in the fight, then.”

“No, we escaped from the prison,” answered Larry, simply. “We were captured during last night. I wish I was sure we’d be safe here until our soldiers come along.” He turned to the old sailor again. “How do you feel now?”

“Better, Larry, a heap better. But I ain’t ready fer no more foot races jest yet.”

“Then we’ll have to remain here. Or perhaps you had better remain here while I go scouting around and see if I can find some of our soldiers, or the ambulance corps.”

“An’ what o’ these gentlemen?”

“We shall go, too,” said one of the Spaniards. “Your friend will be safe here – if he keeps hidden under the sacks,” he added.

Waiting for the strangers to move first, Larry came behind them, still holding the gun as though the weapon were ready for use. The men had spoken fairly enough, yet there was that about them which did not please Larry in the least. “They are regular rascals, or else I miss my guess,” thought the youth.

The roadway still seemed deserted. But far off they could see the natives flying in several directions. Then from a distance came a cheer which Larry knew could only come from American throats.

“Our soldiers must be over there,” he said to the Spaniards. “Will you come with me?”

The men hesitated, and consulted together in their native tongue. “I do not know what to say,” said one, slowly, and began to follow Larry along the highway. Seeing this, the other came, too.

Suddenly a loud shout came to them from a thicket back of some nipa huts, and instantly a band of insurgents burst into view, armed with guns and bolos. They were firing as they retreated, and made a stand on the opposite side of the road.

“José Lupez!” cried one of the officers of the rebels, addressing one of the two Spaniards. “What do you here?”

“And have I no right here?” asked the Spaniard, sharply.

“Who is that with you?”

“My brother, Benedicto, from Manila, who was visiting me.”

“He has betrayed us into the hands of the Americanos! If he – ”

The rest of the sentence was drown out in a volley of musketry, and two rebels were seen to fall. Some started to run, but others held their ground.

Larry listened in amazement. He had heard the names José Lupez and Benedicto, and knew that the two Spaniards were brothers. Could this Spaniard, Benedicto Lupez, be the man who had made off with the money Braxton Bogg had stolen from the Hearthstone Saving Institution?

CHAPTER VIII
A PRISONER OF THE FILIPINOS

Larry had retreated to a small nipa hut standing close to the roadway, feeling that if the Americans were coming in that direction, they would soon be at hand to give Luke and himself aid.

While the insurgents and the Spaniards were conversing, the latter had approached the hut, and now both followed the young sailor inside.

“Is your name Benedicto Lupez?” demanded Larry, approaching the taller of the pair.

“Yes,” was the short response.

“Then you are from Manila – you ran away from there about two weeks ago?”

“Ha! what do you know of that?” demanded the Spaniard, eying Larry darkly.

“I know a good deal about you,” answered the youth, boldly. “After Braxton Bogg was arrested you made off with the money he had left at your residence.”

“’Tis false!” roared the Spaniard, but his face blanched even as he spoke. “I know nothing of that man or his money. I – I was deceived in him.”

“If that is so, why did you leave Manila in such a hurry?”

“I – I wanted to help my brother, who was in trouble. I have not seen a dollar of Bogg’s money. ’Tis he who still owes me for his board, black wretch that he was!” roared Benedicto Lupez, savagely.

At these words Larry was startled. Was Lupez really telling the truth, and if so, where was the money that had wrecked the saving institution?

“He didn’t even pay his board?”

“Not one piaster, boy, – nothing. And I thought him honest, or I would not have taken him in.”

“But his valise is gone, and the bands around the money – ”

“Were as he left them. I can swear I touched absolutely nothing,” answered Benedicto Lupez, earnestly.

Larry was nonplussed. Had the Spaniard looked less of a villain, the young sailor would have been inclined to believe him. But that face was so crafty and calculating that he still hesitated.

“Well, if you are innocent, you will not object to helping me rejoin our soldiers,” he ventured.

“I want nothing to do with the Americanos, – they mean to get me into trouble, even though I am innocent,” growled Benedicto Lupez. “Come, José, we will go,” he added to his brother, in their native language.

His brother was already at the doorway. The shouting and firing outside was increasing. Leaping forward, Larry caught Benedicto Lupez by the arm.

“You’ll stay here,” he began, when the Spaniard let out a heavy blow which hurled the young sailor flat.

“I will not be held by a boy!” cried the man. “Let go, do you hear?” For Larry had caught him by the foot. The boy’s hold was good, and in a trice Benedicto Lupez lay flat on his back. Then he rolled over and over and a fierce tussle ensued, which came to a sudden end when José Lupez leaped forward and kicked Larry in the head, rendering him partly unconscious.

What followed was more like a dream than reality to the bruised youth. He heard a confused murmur of voices and a dozen or more shots, and then, as Benedicto Lupez and his brother ran off, several rebels swarmed into the hut, one stumbling over the lad’s form and pitching headlong. This insurgent was about to knife Larry when he saw that the young sailor’s eyes were closed, and that he was bleeding about the head.

“Un Americano, and wounded,” he said, speaking in the Tagalog dialect. “If he lives, he may make us a useful prisoner;” and a few minutes later Larry felt himself picked up and borne away, first in a man’s arms and then on horseback. He tried to “locate” himself, but when he opened his eyes all went swimming before them, and he was glad enough to sink back once more and shut out the swirling sight.

On and on, and still on went the rebels, some on foot and a few on their steeds. In front were a few wagons and caribao carts piled high with camping outfits, and also one or two light guns – all that had been saved from the garrison. General Lawton’s attack had been a brilliant success, and Santa Cruz itself had surrendered with hardly the loss of a man to the Americans. The troops coming in did their best to round up the insurgents, but they had scattered in all directions and only a few were caught, and these swore that they were amigos, or friends, and had to be given their liberty. This pretending to be friends after they were routed was a great trick with thousands of the natives. They would come into the American camp under the pretext that they had just escaped from the insurgents who had threatened to kill them if they would not join Aguinaldo’s forces. What to do with such people was one of the most difficult problems of the rebellion. They could not be placed under arrest, and yet that is what nine out of ten deserved.

When Larry was once more himself he found that it was night. He was in a heap in a large casco which several Tagals were propelling with all speed across the Laguna de Bay. There were several other cascos in front and behind, all filled with natives with guns. The entire procession moved along in almost utter silence.

The youth wanted to know where he was being taken, but no sooner did he open his mouth than one of the soldiers clapped a dirty hand over it and commanded him to be silent. As the soldier carried a bolo in his hand, Larry considered “discretion the better part of valor,” and for the time being, held his peace.

A swarm of mosquitoes soon told the boy that they were approaching a marsh, and presently the casco ran in between the reeds and under some high, overhanging tropical bushes. Then those on board leaped ashore, and the youth was made to follow them.

A weary tramp over the marsh and then up a high hill followed. The hill was covered with wild plantains, monstrous ferns, and a species of cedar tree, all thickly interlaced with the ever present tropical vines, which crossed and recrossed the tortuous path the party was following. Overhead the stars shone down dimly, while the forest was filled with the cries of the birds, the chattering of an occasional monkey, and the constant drone and chirp of the innumerable insects. The path was uneven, and more than once Larry pitched into a hollow along with the Tagal who accompanied him and who never let go his hold on the youthful prisoner.