s,
who called himself an old "vet," because he had served in Cuba,
went on with "Tim," as his comrades called him. Their turn began
at midnight. The Sergeant, who had posted them, was soon lying down
taking a non-commissioned officer's sleep--one eye closed, the other
on the _qui vive_. Both sentries were on the alert. Many suspicious
noises came to their ears, and imaginary murderous-looking "niggers"
were seen lurking in the grass, behind rice-dykes, and lying crouching
on the ground. If "Tim" discovered something that he was certain was a
death-dealing boloman, he would tiptoe over to Jones and hold a council
of war. That worthy--the old "vet"--would dispense nerve-soothing
whispers in his ears, and he would return to his post a less nervous
"rookey."

The time dragged wearily on, and finally arrived when they were about
to be relieved. The blackest of the night was on. Jones left his post
to arouse the Sergeant and acquaint that official with the hour. "Tim"
was now alone. A slowly moving figure loomed up before him not fifty
yards away. Then came the sounds of heavy tramping feet. The sounds
were rapidly drawing nearer. There, before his dilated eyes, dimly
outlined, and within pistol-shot, was the enemy in great numbers,
who would soon close around the little garrison and murder them to
a man. What should he do? His orders were strict about giving undue
alarms, but if he wasted a moment longer, there would be no time for
defense. If he left his post to arouse his comrades, the enemy would
rush upon them. No. He would give the alarm by firing and one dead
Filipino would be the result of it. He nervously raised his rifle,
took deliberate aim at the advancing figures, and fired. There was a
sickening thud, a heavy fall, and low, deep moans. The men were aroused
and manned the fort. The Sergeant ordered a general fusillade. The
regiment was in the trenches in a moment and remained there till dawn.

The first light of day revealed, lying in a great pool of his own
blood, "Big Bill," the bull buffalo that drew the headquarters
water-cart, who had been out grazing that night.

AN ENCOUNTER WITH BOLOMEN.

A True Narrative of a Personal Experience in the Philippines.

By a Lieutenant of Infantry.

The organized bands of Filipinos known as bolomen are so called because
their principal weapon is the long, broad-bladed, vicious-looking
knife called the bolo, with which they do their deadly work. They
make