"I have the honor to report, sir, that a spy, a Mexican officer, tried to pass our lines at the point where I was stationed. He was disguised as a peon, coming to sell provisions in our camp. When I stopped him he slashed at me with his knife, although the wound he inflicted was but slight, and I, in return, fired at him as he ran. I hit him, as drops of blood on the ground showed, although I think his wound, like mine, was slight." Captain Middleton smiled. "Come, Phil," he said, "you’ve done a good deed, so hop down off your high horse, and tell it in your old, easy way. Remember that we are still comrades of the plains." Phil smiled, too. The official manner was rather hard and stiff, and it was easier to do as Middleton suggested. "Captain," he said, "I recognized the man, and it was one that we’ve met more than once. It was de Armijo." "Ah, de Armijo!" exclaimed the Captain. "He was trying to spy upon us. He is high in the Mexican councils, and his coming here means much. It is lucky, Phil, that you were the one to stop him, and that you recognized him. But he did not love you much before, and he will not love you any more, since you have spilled some of his blood with a bullet." "I know it," replied Phil confidently, "but I feel able to take care of myself as far as de Armijo is concerned." "You go to your tent and sleep," said Middleton, "and I’ll put another man in your place. You must not get too much stiffness and soreness in that arm of yours. You will be likely to need it soon--also, every other arm that you have." Phil, not loth, returned to his tent, which he shared with Breakstone and two or three others. Bill awoke, and, after listening to a narrative of the occurrence, dressed and rebound the arm carefully. "I agree with the Captain that things are coming to a head," he said. "When you see a storm bird like de Armijo around, the storm itself can’t be far behind. I’m glad he didn’t get a good whack at you, Phil, but, as it is, you’re so young and so healthy, and your blood is so pure that it won’t give you any trouble. I’ll dress it again to-morrow, and in a few days it will be well." Bill Breakstone’s prediction was a good one. In three or four days Phil’s wound was entirely healed, and two or three days later he could use his arm as well as ever. The boy, meanwhile, was getting better acquainted with the troops, and, like his comrades, was becoming thoroughly a member of the little army. It was reduced now, by the steady drains to strengthen Scott, to 4,610 men, of whom less than five hundred were regular troops. But the volunteers, nearly all from the west and south, little trained though they might be, were young, hardy, used to life in the open air, and full of zeal. They had all the fire and courage of youth, and they did not fear any number of Mexicans.