as tense, and his face was wet with sweat. There was a possibility
that the sniper was gone, but if not, a noise could bring a lethal slug.
Rick thought grimly that the ancient walled city probably had seen many
a murder in the more than three hundred years since the wall had been
built. He had no desire to be the most recent victim.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, his foot struck the edge of a
twisted sheet of steel. The sheet, all that remained of a Japanese
armored car, rang dully.

Instantly the rifle flamed. The slug smacked into the stone wall a foot
from Rick's shoulder. He didn't wait for the next shot. He hit the
ground, scuttled a few feet, and stopped in a thorny patch. He grimaced
and risked wiping the sweat off his brow. At least one question was
answered. The sniper had not left.

Rick knew that the mysterious rifleman could have gotten away before
this. The fact that he was still lying in wait could mean only one
thing. He had known he was being pursued by the Spindrifters, and he had
waited in the hope of picking off one or two of them.

Fingers of ice laid themselves across Rick's spine. It was no fun being
the object of deadly intentions. He lay very still.

His hand brushed something soft among the thorns, and he thought he knew
what it was. He was lying in a patch of the tiny pink flowers known as
_cadena de amor_--chain of love. He had seen them everywhere during the
day. They grew like weeds anywhere they were allowed to flourish.

The humor of it touched him. How romantic his sister Barbara would think
it--to be trailing a desperado through an ancient Spanish city, and to
be flat on one's stomach in a patch of chain of love. If he got out of
this with a whole skin, he would write her about it, omitting such
unpleasant facts as rifle bullets striking too close and thorns among
the flowers.

But unless he did something about it, he probably would still be lying
there at dawn. He rose to his knees, then to his feet, holding his
breath until lack of response from the rifleman told him he had not been
observed. Then he resumed his slow march in the direction Scotty had
taken.

All guidebooks to the Philippines mentioned the walled city as a
"must-see" item for tourists, and Rick had intended to take a daytime
tour. This was not a suitable substitute. He would still have to return
by day. He moved on, with extreme caution. He could see nothing but the
upper edge of the wall and the silho