THE RETREAT TO THE RICE-HOUSE
Larry was greatly alarmed, not knowing but that his companion was
about to die on his hands. Quickly he knelt at the Yankee's side, to
learn that Luke had fainted away from loss of blood. The shoulder of
his shirt and jacket were saturated through and through.
"What shall I do?" the boy asked himself, and gazed hurriedly at the
surroundings. To one side of the road were several nipa huts, to the
other a long, rambling warehouse. The doorways of all the buildings
stood open, and no one seemed to be in sight.
As quickly as he could the youth took up his friend and staggered with
his heavy burden to the warehouse, which was about half filled with
rice. Entering the structure, he passed to a small apartment somewhat
in the rear. Here there was a quantity of old sacking in a heap, and
upon this rude couch Larry placed the unconscious form.
The boy had been taught on shipboard just what to do in case of such
an emergency, and now he worked as he never had before, for Luke was
very dear to him, and the thought that his friend might die was
horrible to contemplate. He prayed to Heaven that the old gunner's
life might be spared to him.
The wound was an ugly one; yet even to Larry's inexperienced eye it
did not look as if it could be fatal, and the boy breathed a long sigh
of relief as he bound it up. Then he went in search of water, and
finding a well back of the warehouse brought a bucketful in and began
to bathe Luke. Soon the sufferer stirred and opened his honest eyes
wonderingly.
"Why--er--how's this?" he stammered. "Did I--oh, I remember now!" And
he sank back again.
"Keep quiet," whispered the boy. He had heard voices coming toward the
warehouse. "If you make a sound, it may be all up with both of us."
The old tar breathed heavily and nodded. Throwing some sacking over
the prostrate form, Larry slipped back into the main apartment of the
warehouse. He still held the gun, but it was empty and could be used
only as a club.
Two men were approaching the warehouse, both tall, slim, and evidently
of Spanish extraction. They were talking loudly and excitedly to one
another; but as Larry understood but few words of Spanish, what they
were saying was lost upon the boy.
"I don't believe they are after us," thought the lad, when the
strangers came to a halt just outside the warehouse. As they did so a
long volley of rifle shots came from a distance, followed by another
and then another. The shooting came from the centre of the town and
made Larry's heart beat fast. "Our soldiers must be coming in," he
thought. "Oh, I hope they make the town ours!"
The shots appeared to disturb the two Spaniards greatly, for both
clutched each other by the arm and looked thoroughly frightened.
Presently an old woman came running out of one of the huts. She yelled
at the two Spaniards in her own tongue and pointed at the warehouse.
Evidently she had seen Larry and Luke, but had been afraid to expose
herself.
The strangers listened to the old woman with interest, then began to
talk to each other. "Perhaps we can get some information, Jose," 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.
"Jose 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 Jose 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?