Captain Groce, with a company of infantry, was following him closely and doggedly into the fastnesses far to the north. Village after village was devastated by the white troops, always a few hours after the wily Pilar had evacuated. Amigos laughed in their deceptive sleeves at the Americans and misdirected them with impunity. In eight cases out of ten the amigo wore arms underneath his garment of friendship and slew in the dark whenever opportunity arose. Graydon Bansemer was one of this doughty, eager company which blazed the way into the hills. Close behind came the bigger and stronger forces, with guns and horse, and the hospital corps. It was the hunt of death for Aguinaldo and Pilar. Shortly after daybreak, one morning, a slim, black figure crept out from among the trees and gave the countersign to the challenging sentry. He was soon on his way to the Captain's headquarters bearing news of importance. The brown-skinned scout had travelled all night over a hazardous route, and he was more than welcome. He brought news that Pilar's men were off to the east and the north, well intrenched and prepared to fall upon the Americans when they advanced blindly into the trap laid for them. The newspaper men pricked up their ears, and at once looked to a box of carrier pigeons which formed a most important part of their pilgrimage. A fight was at hand, doubtless an important meeting of the clashing forces. The whole army was waiting for intelligence of Pilar--waiting with little less anxiety than that which attached itself to the pursuit of Aguinaldo. Captain Groce ordered Sergeant Gonnell with a picked squad to reconnoitre. They scurried off in advance of the company with instructions to locate the elusive enemy, and open up the secret of his position. Supposedly, Pilar was ten miles off among the rocky foothills which guarded the pass through the mountains. As usual, Bansemer was one of the scouts. He snatched his rations with the others and went forth eagerly to court the danger and the excitement that was promised. For days they had had no fighting worthy the name. Amigos everywhere, villages peopled only by women and children, treacherous peacefulness on every side; this had been their encounter: an occasional rifle shot from the rice fields, a crackle of guns far ahead, a prisoner or two who had not been quick enough in transforming himself from combatant to friend, that was all. Now, there seemed to be real fighting ahead. Pilar was known to have many men--good soldiers all of them. The native scout gave close and accurate directions as to his position; it remained for Connell's men to draw him out, if possible. Captain Groce and the remainder of his eager company did not march until long after the scouts were on their precarious way.