On reaching the summit they gazed about them. Further inland away from the city was a second hill higher than La Mesa; in fact La Mesa was not a hill but a flat spur of the hill in front. On top of the latter they could see a battery of loyal artillery. To their right and left the lines of the defenders were in sight, each prominent point well supplied with men and guns. Far away to their left rose Tortuga Hill, and trailing up its steep slope were visible small objects which the lads knew were reënforcements. “The reserves,” Phil exclaimed pointing to the turtle shaped hill; “the minister’s message has arrived and is being acted upon.” O’Neil had left the lads deep in the study of the strategic positions of the defense and was bent on investigating the houses on the table-like hill. He entered the garden of a prosperous looking building and strolled slowly toward the house; knocking loudly on the door, he waited, listening for footsteps within. He heard a sound of some one moving about and then a hurried whispering. A few moments and the door was opened slowly; a man’s face peered through the narrow slit. “What do you want?” the man asked gruffly in Spanish. “Does Señor Juarez live here?” O’Neil asked in the same tongue. The man’s face blanched and he would have closed the door, but the sailor’s heavily booted shoe had wedged it open. “Not so fast,” he added sternly; “answer my question.” The man stared, an angry scowl on his face. “He is not here,” he snarled. “I asked you if he lived here,” O’Neil corrected, wedging the door further open with the powerful force of his body, “not if he was here.” The sound of whispering from behind the door caused his hand to go quickly to his revolver holster. The door suddenly swung open and the sailor found himself inside in inky darkness. The door had closed with a snap behind him. He held his revolver in his hand, his finger on the trigger, his ears straining to locate an enemy. He heard a noise behind him and swinging around fired directly toward the sound. The flash of his pistol lit up the dark hall for the fraction of a second, but before he could seek a protecting wall he was struck heavily from behind and his senses left him. “A shot, did you hear it?” cried Sydney swinging about in the direction of the cluster of buildings. “Why, where’s O’Neil?” he added in alarm, noting that the sailor was nowhere in sight. With an apprehension of coming evil they walked hastily toward the building from which they had heard the report of fire-arms. Phil uttered a cry of dismay and ran up the steps of the large house. “O’Neil’s hat,” he cried, a terrible dread in his voice. “There’s been foul play here.” “Juarez’s house,” said Sydney aghast, “and O’Neil is inside alone.” They looked about for assistance. There was none nearer than the foot of the hill, where a company of infantry were encamped.