Phil sought the reason why Lazar was there. It came to him suddenly; he saw it all; it was not an accidental meeting; his stained uniform showed he had ridden hard to reach La Mesa. Juarez must have sent the chauffeur to the legation with the news that he and Sydney were on La Mesa, and Lazar had arrived in the nick of time. If he obeyed Lazar’s order and deserted the soldiers while the enemy were about to make a desperate assault, he knew that they would break before the rebels got half-way to the top, and the Colt guns would be lost. They would see a new and terrible peril in being deserted by the Americans. He could not explain to them why he must leave them. He saw in their eyes already an awakening dread. The next assault would be desperate. It had been the surprise at the defense of La Mesa that had sent the enemy back to their trenches in a panic. Now they knew with what they had to deal, and the knowledge that but a handful of men held the hill would spur them on to redoubled energy. [Illustration: _“DO YOU REFUSE?” HE CRIED, HOARSELY_] “Mr. Perry, do you realize that you are deliberately disobeying my orders?” cried Lazar in exasperation. “I am your superior officer, in command of our forces on shore, and I again order you both to come with me.” “Mr. Lazar, can’t you see the consequences of deserting these men?” Phil questioned, struggling to keep calm. “I have no concern for them,” answered Lazar hotly. “You are wearing the United States uniform and you are acting unadvisedly. I order you to leave this hill at once!” He was white with anger as he read in Phil’s face determination to disobey. “Do you refuse?” he cried hoarsely, his hand moving almost unconsciously to his revolver holster. Excited cries from the soldiers made Phil turn an anxious glance toward the enemy. They were sweeping out of their trenches and charging again up the hill. To leave now could mean but failure to the government arms. “I am sorry, sir, I must disobey your order,” he said determinedly. Lazar’s revolver was now out of its holster. His eyes blazed with anger and mortification. “You defy me,” he roared, advancing menacingly, holding his revolver in his clenched hand. Phil was so amazed that he could not find voice to answer. Then his indignation at the threatening attitude of his senior swept caution aside. “I refuse to obey you,” he cried angrily. “I shall not leave until the rebels are repulsed.” His body trembling with passion, Phil turned from the ensign toward the soldiers standing uncertainly watching the enemy’s approach. “Hold on, sir, begging your pardon, sir, but that won’t do,” a familiar voice cried out behind him. Phil glanced about quickly. There was O’Neil, big and strong; he had seized Lazar’s arm as he spoke and was forcing his revolver back into its holster.