ENOUGH TO "RATTLE" THE VICTIM
Bump!
Sergeant Hal landed at least twenty feet below with a suddenness that
jarred all the breath out of him for a moment.
Ere he could recover his half-scattered senses he felt himself seized.
Nor had the Army boy fallen into one pair of hands. Four or five men, as
nearly as he could judge, seized hold of different parts of his body.
There was little use in a prostrate youth fighting against such odds.
Hal was swiftly rolled over on to his face, in the dark, and two of his
captors threw themselves upon him, holding him down.
At the same time another thrust an armful of hemp under his face,
holding it close against his mouth.
Then the light of a dark lantern was flashed on the scene. With the
speed of skilled hands at the game these brown-skinned captors bound the
young sergeant hand and foot.
"Quit this!" Sergeant Overton tried to shout angrily, but the wad of
hemp was forced between his teeth and only a faint sound came forth.
"Help!" he tried to shout, but the sound came hardly louder than a sigh.
Now he was whirled over on his back, helpless, and two of the brown
rascals finished their work by thrusting the hemp far enough into his
mouth to shut off all speech. Then the gag was bound into place.
Hal could form little idea of his prison, save that it was an oblong,
cellar-like place, perhaps a dozen feet wide by twenty feet long.
As nearly as the Army boy could guess, this cellar must be located under
the street itself.
"They've got me for fair," thought the young soldier in a rage that
included himself as well as his captors. "What's their game, I wonder?
Robbery? If it is, they'll feel sold when they find how little money
they are going to get."
By the light of the dark lantern, as he lay on his back on the damp
ground, Hal made out the fact that his captors numbered eight. Five men
had the look and wore the costumes of Moros; the other three rascals
looked as though they might be Tagalos.
One after another the wretches looked down at the young soldier and
grinned, though not one of them spoke.
Of a sudden the light went out. Hal, his ears unusually acute now, heard
their moving footsteps. Then all became intensely still.
"I wonder whether I'm a tremendously big fool, or whether I'm merely
unfortunate?" thought Hal bitterly. "However, how was I to guess? In
this Moro country must it be considered unsafe even to step into a store
and look at the merchandise?"
There was no answer to this. By degrees Hal began to feel decidedly
uncomfortable as to the fate that he might expect.
"If they meant only to rob me," he reflected, "then why didn't they
proceed at once? But not a single brown rascal of the lot took the
trouble to thrust an exploring hand into my pockets. What, then? Do
they want an Army prisoner, and if so, for what?"
The longer the young soldier thought it over, the greater the puzzle
became. Nor did it escape his imagination that possibly he was not to be
allowed ever to see his comrades again. That thought, of course, sent a
chill of horror chasing up and down young Overton's spine. He was not
afraid to die in battle, if need be--but to be treated like a rat in a
trap--that was different.
"Well, they've got me, and I don't see any likelihood of getting away,"
decided Hal at last, after fully an hour devoted largely to futile
efforts to wriggle out of the bonds that held his wrists secure behind
his back. "These knots have been tied by masters. I don't believe I
could get out of them in hours. If they had only tied my hands in front
of me, so that I could work them loose. Confound the pirates!"
After what seemed like the passage of hours, the boy heard a slight
sound. Listening intently, he heard it repeated.
Next a light was turned on--from the same dark lantern.
Behind the light Hal's dazzled eyes could make out the figure of a man.
Toward him the light came, Hal blinking in the glare until the newcomer
halted beside him.
"Ah, Senor Sergente!" cried a mocking voice.
Then the new comer bent over the Army boy, and Overton knew him in an
instant--Vicente Tomba.
"That hemp in your mouth looks as though it might give you discomfort--a
thousand pardons," observed Tomba mockingly, as he removed the cord that
held the hemp in place.
Tomba now squatted on the ground beside the young soldier's head and
drew out the wad of hemp.
"So you are in this, Tomba?" inquired the Army boy coldly. "What's the
game, anyway?"
"Possibly," sneered the Filipino, "when you know more, you'll feel like
making a noise. Let me assure you that no friend will hear if you do
call. But any great amount of noise on your part might provoke me, and
that would not be wise under the circumstances."
Showing his white, even teeth in an evil smile, Tomba took out of the
breast of his blouse a small, bright-bladed creese that might have been
borrowed from one of the wall cases in Cerverra's shop.
"Why has this trick been played on me?" demanded Sergeant Hal angrily.
"A trick?" laughed Tomba softly. "Is that what you think it is? My
friend, you will find that it is much more than a trick--it is a
decree!"
"A decree?" raged Sergeant Overton. "What do you mean?"
"It is a decree from Senor Draney," went on Tomba coldly, maliciously.
"It can do no harm to mention that name since you can never repeat it to
anyone but me, for Senor Draney's decree is that, when you go forth from
here--to-night--you will know nothing afterwards, for you will be _past
knowing_."