one arm in silent direction to Noll.

Then they crept noiselessly into the mouth of the gully. So far they had
not been hailed, but this was not positive proof that human eyes were
not watching their movements.

Once inside the gully they moved, cautiously, still on hands and knees,
halting after every advance of two or three feet. They were shivering in
their thin raiment, for the rain was heavy and cold. Noll's teeth were
all but chattering.

"I don't believe the gully is guarded at all," whispered young Overton
in his friend's ear. "This place looks so like a trap that few military
commanders would ever think of leading men into it in the dark. I figure
that the datto thought this gully not worth guarding by night."

"The slopes above us on either side may be well guarded, however,"
warned Noll.

"Yes; and you can wager that we'll know all about that before we try to
go back to camp," returned Hal. "The place to start such an
investigation is from the rear of the enemy's lines."

"All right; lead on."

They had gone another hundred feet into the gully when Hal Overton
stopped again. Now he rose to his feet.

"We'll walk through," he whispered. "I don't believe we will run into
any of the datto's men hereabouts. If we do, leave it to me to do the
first talking."

"Jersey hog-Latin?" queried Noll, with a grin.

"Of course; Spanish or English would be fatal to fellows who look the
part that we're rigged up to play."

Hal walked on, steadily, though with caution. Noll kept a few feet
behind him until the gully widened, then stepped to his chum's side.

Neither spoke. There was danger in unnecessary conversation. They had
covered six hundred feet more when they felt, rather than saw, that
they were nearing the further end of the gully.

At last they stepped out into the open--then received a sudden shock.
Less than a dozen feet away a Moro sentry, rifle on shoulder, halted,
regarding them keenly.

"Manu batto dobi kem," murmured Hal to his chum, in a low voice. Noll
answered in the same low tone. Both were shaking with more than the
chill of the rain, but Hal turned to the sentry, inquiring mildly:

"Hoppo tuti sen antrim mak?"

The Moro sentry shook his head. He did not understand that dialect.

"Basta morti hengo pas tum," murmured Hal regretfully, hesitating before
the sentry.

"Manga tim no troka," remarked Noll.

Hal turned slowly, nodding at his chum. Then both strolled along, the
sentry mer