The man hesitated, but he did not go. He turned again toward Phil, and at that moment the wind lifted a segment of his wide hat-brim. Phil sprang back in amazement. Despite the dark, he recognized the features of de Armijo, who could have come there for no good, who must have come as a spy or worse. "De Armijo!" he cried, and sprang for him. But the Mexican was as quick as lightning. He leaped backward, dropped his basket, and the long blade of a knife flashed in the air. It cut through the sleeve of Phil’s coat, and the sharp point, with a touch like fire, ran along his arm. It was well for him that he had put on the heavy blanket coat that night, or the blade would have grated on the bone. The pain did not keep Phil from throwing up his rifle, and de Armijo, seeing that his stroke had not disabled the boy, wheeled and ran. Phil fired instantly, and saw de Armijo stagger a little. But in a moment the Mexican recovered himself and quickly disappeared in the darkness, although Phil rushed after him. He would have followed across the plain, but he knew it was his duty to go no farther, and he came back to meet the other sentinels, who were running toward him at the sound of the shot. Phil quickly explained what had occurred, telling the identity of the man, and adding that he was crafty and dangerous. "A Mexican officer," said one of them. "No doubt he was trying to enter the town in order to get more complete information about us and our plans than they have yet obtained. He would have remained hidden by day in some house, and he would have slipped out again at night when he had learned all that he wanted. You did a good job, Bedford, when you stopped him." "You did more than stop him," said another, who had brought a small lantern. "You nicked him before he got away. See, here’s a drop of blood, and here’s another, and there’s another." They followed the trail of the drops, but it did not lead far. Evidently the effusion of blood had not been great. Then one of the men, glancing at Phil rather curiously, said: "He seems to have touched you up, Bedford. Do you know that a little stream of blood is running down your left sleeve?" Phil was not conscious until then that something moist and warm was dripping upon his hand. In the excitement of the moment he had forgotten all about the slash of the knife, but, now that he remembered it, he felt a sudden weakness. But he hid it from the others, and it passed in a minute or so. The chief of the patrol ordered him to go back and report to an officer, and this officer happened to be Middleton, who was sitting with Edgeworth in one of the open camps before a small fire. Phil’s arm meanwhile had been bound up, although he found that the cut was not deep, and would not incapacitate him. Phil saluted in the new military style that he was acquiring, and of which he was very proud, and said, in reply to Middleton’s look of inquiry: