As the midshipmen drove toward their ship this question was still in Phil’s thoughts. “Is Espinosa playing a double game?” he asked Sydney suddenly. “Does he fear detection by his own people? Does he believe that Martinez did not recognize him and that his identity as a traitor is safe?” Sydney shook his head over the mystery. CHAPTER VII THE GUNBOAT COÖPERATES As the two midshipmen stepped over the gangway of the “Mindinao” a figure arose from a seat on the quarter-deck and hurried eagerly toward them. “I’ve been waiting an hour for you,” Major Marble exclaimed excitedly. “The general wants you to start as soon as possible for Binalbagan. Baker’s men have had a fight; we got some news, and then the wire was cut; our signal corps men have already gone out to find the break. Tillotson and fifty men will be on board inside of an hour.” The midshipmen’s eyes opened wide with excitement. “We’re getting up steam, sir,” O’Neil volunteered. “I thought something was in the wind when I seen the major come aboard, so I asked him and he told me what we was to do.” “Good for you,” Phil exclaimed, throwing an appreciative glance at the trusty boatswain’s mate. “Baker is in the field and a sergeant and twenty men are holding the post,” Major Marble continued, “but if the natives are in great force such a handful cannot last long.” An hour later, Lieutenant Tillotson, a thin, blonde-haired youngster, marched his khaki-clad men on board and joined the little group of officers about the table on the quarter-deck. Phil gave the young soldier a look of close scrutiny as he unbuckled the revolver from about his slim waist and laid it on the hatch top. There was nothing soldierly in the newcomer’s appearance, and Phil unconsciously gave a sigh of disappointment. On the officer’s collar between the crossed rifles was a single numeral. “And a regular, too,” he thought. “Good luck,” Major Marble cried as he passed over the gangway on to the dock while the gunboat heaved up its anchor from the muddy bottom of the river and steamed swiftly for the outer harbor. Phil studied carefully the chart in his miniature wheel house forward. “Ninety miles,” he mused as he stepped off the distance to Binalbagan. “At this speed we’ll be in by daylight.” The three sat long over their dinner on the cool quarter-deck, while the gunboat sped rapidly along the coast of Kapay. Forward, the soldiers and sailors fraternized, speculating upon the morrow’s work. The naval men’s faces were keenly excited. The long-looked-for fun had commenced. They were almost willing to hope that Captain Baker’s men were having a stiff time of it, so that the guns of their boat could have a chance to speak their disapproval to the insurgents. Lieutenant Tillotson sat coolly contemplating his coffee cup. To him these expeditions meant but one thing: discomfort. “What’s the chance for a fight?” Sydney asked the army man.