"The thing I remember most was a scrap we had with the Moros," replied Fred. "That was pretty hot while it lasted. "You see," he went on, "those fellows had been acting nasty and had given a good deal of trouble to one of our outposts. So our lieutenant was ordered to take a detachment in a launch and go up a little river that led to a settlement of theirs and give them a lesson. "We landed at the nearest point and had about five miles of jungle to go through before we could get to their village. We did our best to make it a surprise, but in some way they got wind of our coming and lay in ambush. We were picking our way in single file when suddenly there came a rain of bullets and several of our men went down. The rest of us took to cover and the fight was on. "The Moros you know are Mohammedans, and about as nifty fighters as you can find anywhere. Like all men of their religion, they believe that any one who dies on the battlefield goes straight to Paradise, and that gives them an absolute contempt for death. They were well armed too with Mauser rifles that they'd managed to get hold of somehow, but luckily for us they hadn't learned to handle them well and most of their shots went wild. If their shooting had been as good as their hearts were stout, they might have wiped us out, as they outnumbered us two or three to one. "Has anybody got the makin's?" he inquired, as he stopped to roll a cigarette. "Give them to him, somebody," said Bart exasperatedly. "For the love of Mike don't keep him waiting!" ejaculated Frank. "I want to hear how Fred got out of it." Fred, not a bit averse to the interest he had aroused, was tantalizingly slow in taking his time. "Keep your hair on," he drawled, as he struck a match. "I got through all right, or I wouldn't be chinning to you now. "Well," he resumed after a preliminary puff, "we kept picking them off whenever a head showed itself until they found that we could outplay them at that game, and then they resorted to other tactics. Throwing aside their guns and grasping their machettes--those murderous knives of theirs that will cut a man's head off with a single blow--they came charging down upon us. We didn't propose to stand on the defensive, and after a vast volley that swept a lot of them away we fixed bayonets and rushed to meet them." The group that had by this time gathered about Fred drew a little closer. "It was touch and go for a few minutes," continued Fred, "but our weight and discipline told, and soon we were pushing them back. Just then however I stumbled over a root and fell to the ground, striking my head and stunning myself. At that same moment the Moros were reinforced and came back with a wild rush that by sheer weight of numbers forced our line back for twenty-five feet or more.