ng that the hour was nearly
one, when a quiet voice reached him:

"Private Bender calls the sergeant!"

Hal Overton ran quickly around to the place where Bender stood peering
off into the darkness.

"Use your glass yonder, Sarge," urged the soldier. "See if you see
anything moving."

"I do," Hal answered quietly. "I see figures crawling out of the woods,
headed this way. Pass the word to rouse every man without noise. Then go
to Lieutenant Prescott, with my compliments, and report that the enemy
seem to be crawling this way."

Barely had Bender disappeared when Lieutenant Prescott came up on a
quick trot.

"Starting things, are they, Sergeant?" the officer whispered.

"Here's your glass; look over there, sir."

Lieutenant Prescott looked quietly for a few seconds. Then he turned to
whisper:

"Pass quickly along the lines, Sergeant, and order every man to load his
magazine. Instruct the squad leaders not to let their men get rattled
and shoot too soon or too fast. This move may be only a ruse."

Bringing his hand smartly to the brim of his campaign hat, Sergeant
Overton was off with the orders. He soon returned, however, and took up
his position beside the lieutenant.

Then, in a twinkling, scattering Moro volleys sounded on the other side
of the house, followed by wild, savage yells.

"That's probably a ruse to draw us around there," muttered Prescott.
"Sergeant Dinsmore is there in charge, and he'll know what to do. Good!
He's attending to it."

For now the sharper tones of the Army rifles began to rip out on the
further side of the house.

Suddenly another volley of shots rang out on the near side of the house,
showers of bullets driving in.

"Lie down, Sergeant!" ordered Lieutenant Prescott, falling back.

"Are you hit, sir?" asked Hal anxiously.

"No, no; look after your fire control. Let your men fire whenever they
see anything to hit, but not in volleys. Shoot sharp, men!"

Hal's regulars, crouching in the trench, needed no further orders. They
could now see, dimly, the figures of the oncoming Moros, advancing by
rushes.

The enemy's fire became so heavy that Lieutenant Prescott decided it to
be an act of prudence to crouch down himself, though he lay against the
trench wall, his head and arms fully exposed as he kept the night glass
to his eyes.

"Low aim, men!" warned Hal, as he passed behind the firing line.
"Careful with every cartridge. Every brown man you hit is one less to
meet w