officer coldly.

"I'm mighty glad you've come. Off yonder we've been hearing firing at
intervals ever since daylight."

"How recently have you heard it?" queried Prescott.

"Within ten minutes."

"Thank heaven, then!" muttered the lieutenant. "The Seaforth people are
holding out."

"Is it at Seaforth's?" demanded Draney, with assumed eagerness.

"So I imagine. But I must hurry on my way. Take care of yourself, Mr.
Draney."

Perhaps that last bit of advice was delivered in a tone of some sarcasm.
Draney appeared to feel very uneasy.

"Prescott--Mr. Prescott--aren't you going to leave some of your men here
to protect this place?"

"I don't believe it will be necessary," replied the lieutenant, and
again, no doubt, there was some hidden irony in his words.

"But the Moros may attack us here at any moment," urged Draney
pleadingly.

"I hope they won't attack you, Mr. Draney. But, in any event, I have no
orders to leave any of my men here."

"Yet, surely, as an officer commanding troops in the field, you have
some discretion in the matter."

"I fear it would be an abuse of my discretion to weaken my detachment by
leaving men here."

At that moment four or five shots sounded faintly in the distance.

"You must see my present duty as clearly as I do, Mr. Draney," uttered
the young lieutenant quickly. "Good-bye, sir."

"Can't you leave me even six men?"

Prescott did not reply, but called:

"March the detachment, Sergeant."

Hal gave the moving order instantly, the lieutenant cutting off the
column obliquely and thus rejoining its head.

"The impudence of that fellow!" growled Lieutenant Prescott, under his
breath, but Sergeant Hal heard the words.

Two or three minutes later, when the plantation buildings were out of
sight, the young sergeant chanced to look back along the line.

As he did so something in the sky caught his attention.

"Look at that, sir," urged Hal, stepping out of the way of the column
and pointing backward.

Lieutenant Prescott uttered an exclamation of anger.

"I wish we had men to spare. I certainly would send some of them back to
that confounded Draney!" quivered Prescott.

The object at which both gazed was a blood-red kite, flying high, and
apparently sent up not far from the Draney house.

"It must be a signal, sir," suggested Sergeant Hal.

"Of course it is!" stormed the lieutenant. "It's the easiest way in the
world of sending the news to the brown fiends swarmi