Now all was quiet. We stood with our heaving chests touching. I felt his breath in my face, and his heart palpitating against my breast. There was a lull in the battle. I felt safe, as far as the revolver was concerned, for he had emptied that, but the deadly knife was still poised over my head. My life depended entirely on the strength of my wounded hand and wrist, which were holding the knife away from my throat. Now I remembered that bolomen never travel alone. That he had comrades within a few feet of me, who were trying to distinguish between us, so that they might be sure that their knifes should enter my back instead of his, I was certain. My flesh cringed at the thought; I could almost feel the cold steel enter my body. It was time for me to force the fight. My right foot was badly wounded, but the knee was yet unhurt. With this I struck the man a blow in the abdomen, and quickly followed it with another. It was evident that he was weakening. He again made a desperate effort to free the hand which held the bolo, but my endeavor to keep him from succeeding was greater. I drew back the right leg as far as I could, doubled up the knee, and, with all the strength that I possessed, drove it again into his abdomen. The effect was marvelous; his muscles relaxed, his struggles grew feeble, and his breathing was badly interrupted. This was the decisive part of the fight, and I grasped the opportunity. With all my might I threw him from me. He fell among the bushes, and was lost in the blinding darkness. I drew my revolver from the scabbard, and fired in the direction in which I had thrown him. This shot was answered by a cry which told me he had been hit. At this moment I heard the twigs breaking and the leaves rustling behind me. Like a flash I faced about and fired at the approaching figures--my assailant's fellow-bolomen. The effect of the shot was to cause a heavy rustling and the sound of many feet in rapid retreat. I had been careless enough to come into this jungle with but two loads in my revolver, and these had been fired. When I began to reload, my right foot gave way and I fell. Lying on the ground, I loaded and fired again. The groans of my wounded enemy were getting farther away, and the sounds finally died in the direction of the Filipino line. I hobbled to my nearest outpost, where one of the men bound my wounds, and later I received the attention of a medical officer. I believe myself to be the first American soldier to live to tell the tale of his fight with bolomen.--_From Youth's Companion of February 1, 1900_. "CARABAO BILL." A Midnight Reconnaissance in the Philippines.