-ra-ta! rang the bugle. As the men obeyed the command to cease
firing one would again have been reminded of exploding packs of fire
crackers, for the fire died down sputteringly, with here and there
another report or two from soldiers who felt that they had a fine bead
drawn and ached to "get" another enemy or two.

Fully twenty-five of the Moros had fallen, either in the trench at the
first crash of fire, or else while running to cover.

These, however, were not the only enemies at hand, for, from a grove off
to the left of the planter's house a heavy fire now crashed out, and
bullets began to clip twigs from the trees among which the soldiers lay.

Other bullets whizzed by over the heads of Uncle Sam's men as they lay
there. There was a peculiarly spiteful sound to the passage of these
bullets. "Whew-ew-ew!" they sang, for most of the Moros were using the
.43 Remington, with the brass-jacketed, heavy bullet, this being a
favorite arm in the islands among the natives. There are always
adventurers at Hong Kong who, for a price, will land any number of
Remingtons and any amount of ammunition at lonely spots along the coast
of the islands.

Shading his eyes with his left hand Lieutenant Prescott tried to locate
this other firing party of Moros. Smokeless powder gives no clue to the
hiding places of an enemy, and even if there be any kind of echo it is a
confusing guide.

But at last Prescott was sure he had located the second Moro fighting
party and he pointed out the place to his men.

"Send them a volley over there, all together," ordered the young
officer. "Ready; load! At six hundred and fifty yards, aim. Fire!"

Prescott's face beamed with satisfaction as he held his field glass to
his eyes and saw where the bullets threw up the dirt.

"Splendidly done, men!" he cried. "We'll send 'em another. Ready; load.
Aim--fire!"

Once more the volley crashed out splendidly. Then the men lay on their
hot-barreled rifles.

No more shots came their way just then.

"We've silenced their fire for the time being," chuckled the officer. "I
wonder if the enemy are retiring?"

In the silence Uncle Sam's men could hear a frantic cheer rise from the
interior of the planter's house.

"Yes; I'll warrant they're glad," cried Prescott, his eyes shining
mistily. "But we haven't reached them yet!"

It looked easy. All the detachment had to do was to run across a field
and halt before the planter's house.

Yet how could the yo