While the two were talking a servant brought refreshments, which the army man waved impatiently aside. Espinosa helped himself and as he did so he followed his servant’s eye to a tightly rolled piece of paper inside the salva. He drew it out hastily, unrolling it in silence, feeling rather than seeing the captain’s eyes upon him, then he read the few lines written therein. Here was a chance to redeem his good name or at least save himself for this time from the fierce American. He asked a question in the native language and received a monosyllabic answer. “This is very important,” he exclaimed suddenly turning to the American officer. His voice was now joyful, full of confidence. “Two hundred riflemen have landed at Dumaguete from Luzon. To-night they will be encamped on a hill near Banate. You can attack them there before they can join Diocno.” Captain Blynn jumped to his feet, reaching out for the paper; he took it, scrutinizing it closely--then stuck it quietly into his pocket. Espinosa held out a trembling hand, bent upon regaining the note, but Captain Blynn had turned away, picking up his hat and whip from the table behind him. “I shall myself go in command of this expedition,” he announced gruffly as he moved toward the stairs, “and I shall expect you to accompany me, señor. We shall start at sunset.” Señor Espinosa feebly murmured his willingness, and after waiting to see the burly figure of his visitor pass out through the wide entrance, he turned and called for his servant. “Tell the messenger I will speak to him,” he said as the muchacho noiselessly entered. A moment later a ragged native stood tremblingly before him, twisting his dirty head-covering in his nervous hands. Espinosa seated himself luxuriously in the chair recently vacated by Captain Blynn. He had now regained his old confidence and cruel arrogance, while he fired question after question at the uncomfortable native.