“No, don’t waste your time on him, every second is precious; they may return any moment. He’s thoroughly stunned, and I can take care of him if he comes to.” As the speaker’s voice was stilled, the lads heard footsteps. The faint light died into blackness. They were glad to know that O’Neil was not seriously hurt, but the thought that Juarez might escape and hasten the attack before the machine guns could be rescued stirred them to the highest pitch of anxiety. They listened intently, but could hear nothing save the beating of their own hearts. Undoubtedly Juarez had gone, but the other man was surely there on guard, and soon the man called Pedro would join him. Phil dared not speak; he felt immediate action was needed. Suddenly an inspiration came to him. He slowly and cautiously moved his hand toward where he knew his companion must be, until it rested over Sydney’s fingers. Then pressing firmly as if his friend’s hand were a telegraph key, he signaled the one word in the naval code: “Forward.” His companion understood and answered by a steady pressure of the hand, then followed Phil slowly and painfully over the fallen door. They dared not breathe; they must now be within arm’s length of their enemy. Sydney’s hand touched Phil. The shock of his cold touch made the overwrought lad spring to his feet, pointing his revolver menacingly. A second and the situation was grasped. They were alone in the tunnel. “We must get O’Neil and hurry. The men may return any moment and we must avoid a fight,” whispered Phil. By the sound of the sailor’s breathing they located his prostrate body. They lifted him carefully and picked their way back over the fallen door. They reached the opening in the cellar, thankful at saving their shipmate from the hands of these men, who would have killed him without pity if it served their ends. “Go up first, Syd,” commanded Phil. Sydney hesitated, casting an apprehensive glance down the dark tunnel. If the men came back they could see Phil by the light from the opening above. “Stand back,” Sydney urged, “until I am ready to help you up.” Sydney ascended quickly. Phil made the rope fast around the body of the unconscious man, and Sydney slowly hauled O’Neil to safety. Phil was alone in the blackness of the cellar. He strove against the fear of an unknown danger. It seemed an age before the rope was free and came swiftly back to him. In but a moment they emerged from the house with their burden into the warm sunshine. “Where are the soldiers?” questioned Sydney anxiously. They placed the unconscious sailor on the soft earth and looked quickly about them. There was not a soldier in sight. “Some of Juarez’s work, you can be sure of that,” replied Phil uneasily. “He took a desperate risk impersonating O’Neil, and probably told the soldiers they were no longer needed, and the lieutenant was glad enough to get back to the security of his camp.”