"Thet will teach 'em to keep their distance," was Sorrel's comment. "Perhaps they'll clear out soon, bein' afeered some more o' our troops will come this way." But the natives were "game," as Ben expressed it; and instead of withdrawing, they began to come closer, using every bush, tree, and outbuilding to the best advantage. Some of their fellows had joined them, so that the attacking party now numbered fifteen, and each well armed. They had seen that Ben wore the uniform of a captain, and felt that the capture of such an officer would be much to their credit. Sergeant Kaser was now groaning so that he could be heard even outside of the building, and as the rebels had fired through the windows several times, they concluded that they had wounded one of the four men they knew to be inside. If this was so, but three _Americanos_ were now left, and they felt that victory would soon be within their grasp. "Surrendor, or we kill eferyboddy!" cried one of the number, in English that could scarcely be understood. "We haf dreety mens outside." "We ain't surrenderin', not by a jugful!" answered Sorrel. "What in thunder does he mean by 'dreety mens'?" he added, to his companions. "I think he means thirty," answered Ben. "But I don't believe there are that many." "Yes, but there are more than there was," announced Casey, quickly. "I'm just afther seein' 'em pass yonder bushes." He had pointed his gun, but the Filipinos had been too quick for him. "Do you surrendor?" demanded the voice again. "We shall begin to shoot if you no gif up." "No surrender," answered Ben, firmly. Hardly had he spoken when something came rolling toward the cottage and stopped close to the porch. It was a rude ball made of sugar-cane husks and over a foot in diameter. The ball was ablaze and burning fiercely, as if covered with pitch. CHAPTER XV THE ESCAPE FROM THE BURNING HOUSE "Hullo, that's a new wrinkle!" exclaimed Ben. "They are going to try burning us out." "Sure, an' thim haythins is up to all sorts av dodges," cried Dan Casey. "It's meself as would like to git a squint at th' feller that threw that." "I've got him, I reckon," whispered Sorrel, taking a ready aim at a thin hedge to the left of the house. The report of his gun was followed by a shriek of pain, and a Filipino fell into view, the blood flowing freely from a wound in his neck. Soon his companions caught him by the legs and dragged him back into cover. After this brief exchange of "compliments," as the tall Tennesseean called it, there came a lull. Evidently the natives were disconcerted by the unexpected fall of the man who had thrown the fire-ball and knew not what to do. "Do you suppose they have quitted the vicinity?" questioned Jeming, after listening vainly for some sound from without. From a distance came a scattering fire, but around the native house was the silence of death, for the man who had been shot by Sorrel had fainted from loss of blood.