III CAUGHT BY SHARPSHOOTERS
"He'll stumble on the lieutenant—he can't help it!"
Such was the thought which surged through Ben Russell's mind as he saw the rebel sharpshooter move swiftly and silently in the direction of the hollow in the brush.
Exactly what to do he did not know, yet instinctively he followed the Tagal, keeping the sharpshooter covered with his revolver. He felt that a struggle was at hand and nerved himself to meet it.
The hollow was almost gained when the sharpshooter came to a sudden pause, with his eyes bent to the ground. He had discovered Ben's footprints in the wet grass, and was wondering if they were those of friend or foe.
Fearing the fellow would look around, the young captain wisely withdrew to the shelter of a near-by tree. A moment later the sharpshooter turned back and began to follow the footprints he had discovered. He passed within ten paces of Ben, whose heart almost stopped beating for the moment, and then moved on toward the rocks.
"He's on my trail, and he'll soon catch up to me," reasoned the young officer. Then he thought of an old trick, frequently used by the Indians and the hunters of the West, as well as by certain wild animals, and walked in a semicircle toward the trail and overlapped it for a dozen steps. This done, he leaped to a near-by rock, and from this to another rock, and then into a tiny stream of water, thus breaking the trail.
Still the young officer was not satisfied, and reaching some more brushwood, he waited impatiently to see what the sharpshooter would do next. It had now begun to rain, but the downpour was not as heavy as he had expected.
Ten minutes passed, and to the young captain the time seemed an age. He knew Gilmore would become alarmed over his absence, and was on the point of returning to the hollow, when he saw the Tagal again, now following the trail back from the rocks.
The sharpshooter reached the point where the trail overlapped itself, and moved on for a hundred feet further. Then he halted in perplexity and scratched his head. Ben watched every movement as a cat watches a mouse.
The sharpshooter had been fooled and he knew it, and at last he retraced his steps to where the trail overlapped itself. Then he hunted for the back trail, leading to the hollow, and finding it, passed on, with his rifle clutched tightly in both hands and his eyes peering ahead like those of a hawk.
"Captain, is that you?" It was Gilmore who spoke, not loudly, but still strong enough to be heard by the sharpshooter, who instantly came to a halt.
To have spoken would have been to expose himself, so Ben did not answer. Instead, he crossed the brushwood and came up directly behind the Tagal, who had his rifle up and pointed at the direction from which the voice had proceeded.
"I say, is that you, captain?" went on the injured man. His disability had made him more fearful than ever. He, too, had his weapon up, but his hand shook so it was doubtful if he would have been able to hit the object of his aim.
Still Ben did not answer, but came as close as possible to the sharpshooter, who now advanced several steps. Suddenly the Tagal caught sight of Gilmore and took aim at the man. But before he could discharge the weapon, Ben reached under his arm and snatched it from his grasp.
"Bah! Americano!" ejaculated the sharpshooter, as he swung around and faced the young captain. Then he leaped forward to regain his rifle, but Ben struck him over the head with the stock, and he staggered back half dazed. In a moment more the American had him covered with a pistol.
"Hush!" he said warningly, and added in broken Spanish: "No noise, or I fire!"
"Pig!" growled the sharpshooter. "Pig! Give me back my Mauser!"
"Hush, I tell you, if you value your life."
The Tagal now understood and became silent, although he looked angry enough to annihilate the young officer who had thus got the better of him.
It must be confessed that Ben did not know what to do next. One object of his scouting had already been accomplished—to find out if the enemy really had sharpshooters in the neighborhood—and his main desire now was to get back to the American lines with Gilmore and without further trouble.
"Captain, who is that?" asked the lieutenant, feebly.
"A sharpshooter. I have just disarmed him."
"A sharpshooter! Why don't you fill him with lead?"
"I can't do that—now he is my prisoner. Besides, I don't want to arouse the whole neighborhood."
"Is he alone?"
"His friends are not far off."
"What are you going to do?"
"I hardly know. I can't take him and you both into camp, and I can't let him go."
"No, no, don't let him go. He'll bring the whole nest around our ears in no time."
"Put your hands up," said Ben to the prisoner, as best he could in Spanish. "And be careful of what you do, or I'll fire on you."
The language was understood, and the sharpshooter put up his dirty hands sullenly. Then Ben made him move into the hollow and sit down on a rock. The Tagal had now no weapon but a short knife, and this the young captain took from him.
"How many sharpshooters around here?" Ben asked.
"I do not know," was the short reply.
"Were you ordered to stay here all day?"
"No; we stay here so long as it pleases us."
"You were told that the Americans were coming in this direction?"
"No, but we suspect it."
"Why?"
At this the Tagal grinned. "Because our general has been waking them up."
"Of course you know just where your men are located on your picket line?" went on the young captain.
The sharpshooter did not quite understand this question, and Ben had to repeat it in several ways. At last the Tagal nodded slowly. Ben turned to Gilmore.
"Lieutenant, do you think you can allow that fellow to carry you on his back?"
"Carry me?" queried Gilmore, in intense surprise.
"Yes. I'll see to it that he does it as carefully as possible."
"But I don't understand."
"I want this man to show the way back to our lines, between the Filipino sharpshooters. If he carries you, I can walk beside him and see to it that he plays us no trick. Now do you understand?"
"I do," cried the lieutenant, and his face brightened. "But will the fellow do it?"
