he made a slight grimace, contented himself with
crouching low and progressing slowly.

Barely had Sergeant Hal gained his own post, with Private Kelly on his
right hand, when a furious fusillade broke out from the southward.

"Keep your heads down, all of you!" shouted the young sergeant. "Don't
be too curious about what the Moros are doing. If you keep your heads
down the rascals can't hit you, and it won't do us any harm to let them
waste their ammunition. Don't any man fire without orders."

"They're doing some good shooting, Sarge, at last," remarked Private
Kelly, as the showers of bullets peppered the top of the trench and
sprinkled dirt over the crouching soldiers.

"The only good shooting, Kelly, is that which cuts up the enemy,"
rejoined Hal. "The goo-goos are not hitting any of us, and we're not
losing anything by saving our ammunition."

"Goo-goos" is an old name applied to the Philippine raiders. Whenever a
native grows tired of fighting, or wants to enter a town for the purpose
of getting information, he hides his arms, then enters Uncle Sam's
lines, pretending that he is a "good" man, and not a rebel against the
authority of the United States Government. From this the soldiers have
learned to allude to all fighting Filipinos as goo-goos.

"Lend me your trenching tool, Kelly?"

"Sure, Sarge."

With this implement Hal Overton burrowed a small hole through the top of
the trench. Thus, without exposing himself too much, he was able to keep
an eye on the distant grove in which the Moros had found cover.

"I'll let you spell me on this watch, from time to time, Kelly," said
Hal.

"I'll be glad to, Sarge, for I'll admit that I'm anxious to know what
the goo-goos are doing."

"At present they're not trying to advance," replied Sergeant Overton,
"and that's about all we're interested in. As long as they stay where
they are, and waste their ammunition, they'll not bother us much."

In the meantime Lieutenant Prescott was seated in a chair behind the
high wall of dirt before the house door. The elder Seaforth occupied
another chair.

"Have you any idea, sir, how you incurred the wrath of these Moro
rascals?" asked the young lieutenant.

"By refusing to pay blackmail," replied the planter bluntly.

"Then you were asked to pay money to some of these native chieftains?"

"No."

"Eh?"

"I wasn't asked; I was commanded to do so," replied Mr. Seaforth slowly.
"When you speak of the Moro rascals, Li