The officer smiled, pleased at the compliment to the army in which he was an officer. “English?” he asked, relenting. “Yes, travelers,” Phil replied suavely; “we are getting news for European papers.” This, Phil thought, was rather clever and not untrue, either, for what they found out would in time find its way to European newspapers. “Ah!” exclaimed the officer delightedly, who like all his race saw no good in fighting unless his valor would be heralded to the world, “you are just in time to see a grand battle. We are waiting now the order to attack. General Ruiz expects a number of machine guns; when they arrive we shall enter the city in triumph;” his voice rose with excitement. “You will see the greatest battle of the century; there will be many killed: you are lucky to be with us.” Phil expressed his delight as best he could, but the officer’s words had given him a distinct shock. It would go hard with them if Ruiz found out they had captured the arms he was awaiting. “But he must know they were captured,” Phil thought suddenly. He glanced out toward the sea. “Why, it was here that we were fired upon.” Then he said aloud: “Is this Mariel?” “Yes,” replied the officer, “Mariel is over there. Our general’s headquarters are just behind the town. It is but a half hour’s walk from here. I shall do myself the honor of accompanying you.” Phil protested that they could go on alone, but the officer politely insisted. He gave some hurried orders to a ragged sergeant, then led the way past the gun and up the road. Phil glanced with interest at the field piece. It was an American made gun and looked brand new. “Some more of Juarez’s rascality,” he thought. “My name is Pedro Valdez, Lieutenant of Artillery,” the officer announced, extending his hand and bowing politely. Phil took it and stammered out the names that came first in his mind: “Mr. Sydney, Mr. John; and my name is Phillips,” he answered, including his companions and himself with a comprehensive wave of the hand. “Do your comrades speak Spanish?” the officer asked. “No,” Phil replied, decidedly in haste, fearing Sydney might answer in the affirmative. He felt it best that there should be but one mouthpiece. After ten minutes of brisk walking, they arrived at a pretty country villa. It was surrounded by trees of all descriptions and throughout the garden flowers of many colors were growing in great profusion, filling the balmy air with delicious perfume. The house itself was built of the adobe so common in Spanish speaking countries; one storied with a central court in which more plants and flowers gave their fragrance. Another officer met them at the door and escorted them to the courtyard, where a number of tables were laid for a meal. The odor of savory cooking made our friends remember that their last meal had been breakfast.