"I don't believe they will come very close," continued Ben. "They know that we have the advantage of them, even if we are but four to nine." The young captain was right. The Filipinos had showed themselves only for a few seconds. Now, as Sorrel raised his gun, they lost no time in darting behind cover. The cottage consisted of four rooms, all on the ground floor, and a low loft upstairs. It was well built and fairly furnished in native fashion. On the single bed it contained lay the wounded soldier, Sergeant Kaser, whom Ben had met several times. He was hit in the neck, and looked as if he could last but a few hours at the most. "Sorry we can't git ye back to camp, sergeant," said Sorrel, as he did what he could to ease the wounded one's pain. "The house is surrounded by the enemy. I reckon we kin keep 'em out, but I reckon likewise thet they kin keep us in--at least fer a while." "It--don't--matter," gasped Sergeant Kaser. "I am not--not--long for this world. What a terrible thing war is! I never thought I was going to be shot down like this!" And he gave another gasp. His eyes were staring from his head, for he was suffering severe pain. Ben looked around the cottage for something which might be given to the sufferer to ease him. But the dwelling had been stripped of all small things, and nothing in the way of food, drink, or medicine remained. Sorrel had already bound a handkerchief soaked in cold water around the wounded neck, so nothing more could be done, excepting to raise the sufferer up to a sitting position, at his request. "I don't know as thet is best fer him," whispered the tall Tennesseean to Ben. "But he ain't long fer this world, as he says, an' he might as well hev his wish as not." In the meantime Casey and Jeming were on guard, one watching to the front and right, the other to the left and rear. The nearest building to the cottage was a hundred and fifty feet away, but bushes and small trees were numerous, and the Americans were afraid the rebels might try to sneak up behind these and surprise them. "Something is moving over there," announced Jeming, after watching several of the bushes for a short spell. "Can't make out, though, if it's man or beast." "Have you plenty of ammunition?" asked Ben, who, as an officer, felt in charge of the party. "Seventeen rounds, captain." "And how about you, Casey?" "Fifteen rounds," returned the Irish volunteer, after counting up the contents of his belt. "I have twelve rounds, captain," came from Sorrel. "But I reckon you know how I shoot, an' Jeming's jest as good, mebbe better." "I think the supply is sufficient," said Ben, "so don't run any chances. If you think that is an enemy give him a shot. But don't hit one of our fellows by mistake," he added, by way of caution. "It's a Tagal!" cried Jeming, while the young captain was yet beside him. The gun was levelled like a flash, a report followed, and the Filipino fell behind the bushes and was seen no more.