“I have no time to attend to the wounded of the enemy,” the doctor replied, shaking him off. “He is not an enemy,” Phil cried, tearing off the insurgent coat of Juarez from the scantily clad sailor; “he is an American, one of my companions. We need his services badly,” the lad begged, throwing a glance up toward La Mesa. “An American,” the doctor exclaimed in genuine surprise, bending at once over the senseless body. He then stood up and called for his assistants and together they carried him inside the hospital tent near by. Phil, relieved of his charge, looked anxiously about for the lieutenant. He saw him returning with Sydney from their race after the automobile. “Come quick, Syd, we want all these soldiers,” he shouted, turning back up the hill. The lieutenant waved his hand and gave rapid orders to his men. Side by side the midshipmen raced back up the steep slope of La Mesa. Once at the top they stopped and waited impatiently for the soldiers. “Have you told him of the machine guns?” Phil questioned his companion breathlessly. Sydney nodded his head in the affirmative. “Yes, he has orders to go immediately to Tortuga Hill with his company, but he wished to see the arms first.” They were soon in the house peering down into the dark cellar. The lads knew that at least two of their enemy were guarding the tunnel and would open fire at the first man who descended the rope. Sydney would have pushed his companion aside but Phil anticipated him and grasping the rope firmly he slid down until his feet struck the earth floor. A fusillade of shots came from the guarding enemy; he felt the rush of air from a bullet that grazed his cheek. He jumped backward hastily against the wall and glanced anxiously up at his companions. Sydney was descending rapidly and was soon by his side. Another volley came from down the tunnel. “Come down,” Phil urged the hesitating soldiers; “don’t desert us, the arms are here, see!” He grasped a gun from under the canvas cover and dragged it out until the light from above disclosed its character to the wavering men above. The enemy in the tunnel opened a rapid fire; the soldiers ready to descend drew back in fear. In desperation Phil drew his revolver and faced squarely down the dark tunnel; six shots from his Colt rang out. “We are coming, señor,” the lieutenant cried, forcing some of his men before him down the rope and following them quickly, while the lads silenced the fire of the enemy with their revolvers. The soldiers once in the cellar opened fire with their rifles down the tunnel. “The guns, now,” cried Phil; “two soldiers must keep up the fire,” he directed turning to the lieutenant. The canvas cover was removed and a great store of ordnance material was revealed to the astonished eyes of the lieutenant and his men.