“I wish we had a half a dozen of our own men,” Sydney declared; “we’d have those guns safely out of that cellar in a jiffy.” Phil dropped down on his knees beside the prostrate sailor. “See,” he cried pointing to an ugly lump on his head, “they stunned him by a blow on the head. If we could get a doctor we’d soon have him back to his senses.” Sydney had walked over to the brow of the hill and peered below at the soldiers’ camp. He rushed back and caught Phil’s arm. “See, Phil, there he goes toward that group of trees. He will reach the automobile and once in it he can run the government lines. Ruiz will attack immediately and the guns will fall into his hands without a struggle. How can we stop him?” Phil had been too engrossed with the injuries to O’Neil to think about the consequences of Juarez’s escape. The ominous meaning in his companion’s words brought him back with a start to their dangerous position. Casting an anxious glance at the unfortunate sailor he started down the hill, then compassion for O’Neil made him return quickly to his side. “We must not abandon him here,” he cried. “Go, Syd, quick. You must get down there and prevent Juarez’s escape.” Sydney needed no further urging and Phil saw him dart down the hill, but he also saw the white figure of Juarez hastening toward the waiting automobile. Phil raised the stalwart form of O’Neil to his shoulder and carried him slowly down the hill. His burden was great, but he bore it easily; thanks to his athletic training. Sydney was now almost among the soldiers; he saw them turn toward the approaching midshipman, then go scurrying away after the figure in O’Neil’s uniform. Phil put forth his young strength and redoubled his speed; a cry of despair escaped him. A dark shape darted out of the grove of trees and sped away along the road, leaving a thick cloud of dust behind it. “The automobile. Shoot!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. Yet he knew his voice could not be heard by the pursuing soldiers. He fairly ran down the hill with the sailor’s body securely on his shoulders. The sharp crack of rifle shots came up to him from below. The firing spread along the lines of the defending army, but the lad saw with bitterness that Juarez would not be stopped; the machine was running at top speed down the military road straight for the outpost at El Poso. Reaching the camp Phil laid his burden on the soft grass. He was breathless with his great exertions of the last few minutes. His lungs seemed unable to get enough air. The soldiers were returning from their futile chase after Juarez. “Quick, a doctor,” Phil ordered, his voice betraying his great anxiety. La Mesa and the arms now would surely be captured, and Ruiz would take the city. “A medico, señor?” questioned an officer, eying the prostrate figure on the grass. Phil caught him roughly by the arm. “Are you a doctor?” he cried excitedly. “This man has been stunned by a blow in the head. Can you bring him to?”