An army scout travels “light” and when he is about to set out on an expedition, his preparations are a marvel of speed and simplicity. Johnny was even speedier than usual in getting ready for his perilous mission. He had little to do save to strap on a brace of navies, his canteen and haversack and say goodbye to his “bunky.” The latter, as his friend was leaving, handed him an enormous bowie knife, saying, “Here’s a western lancet that I want you to take with you, just for luck. We like ’em out our way. They don’t miss fire, nor go off half cocked, and they can’t be beat for tickling the solar plexus.” The bunky forgot to mention the bowie’s chief merit, that it wasn’t noisy. This was left for Johnny’s own exploitation. Johnny loosened his belt, slipped the bowie upon it and said, “Thanks, and speakin’ of the West reminds me of a little trick one of the boys taught me when we was cooped up in Manila. I almost forgot this,” and reaching up he took down a coil of rope that hung at the side of the tent. This he slung over his shoulder, sash-wise. In less than half an hour after his interview with his captain, our soldier slipped through the picket lines and plunged into the jungle. He knew that he must get beyond the outskirts of the town under cover of darkness if he would elude the watchful eyes of the Filipinos who hung about in the surrounding hills and jungles. Had he not started before dawn it would have been necessary to await the coming of the next night, in order to leave the camp unobserved by the enemy. Agramonte’s base of operation was so well known that the uninitiated may naturally wonder why he had not been captured long before. It requires only a moderate knowledge of the native character and of the nature of the country to understand why Captain Benning with the small force at his command, had hitherto refrained from attempts at the outlaw’s capture. A formal campaign against him would have necessitated beating up the Filipinos precisely as game is beaten up in a battue. This would have required a very large and powerful force. Agramonte, fully cognizant of the situation, had established himself at Masillo, a little village in the foot hills less than five miles from the camp of the Americans, where he conducted himself precisely as if there was no such thing existing as the United States of America or a hostile army. The Batolan river lay between him and his enemies in khaki. This was a turbulent mountain stream of considerable width, with no ford nearer than some seven or eight miles from the renegade’s headquarters. Granting that his enemies succeeded in crossing the stream, which was not an easy thing for a small force such as he believed would probably be sent against him to do under fire, he had but to hide himself amid his native rocks and ravines and he could snap his brown fingers at the hated Americanos.