When so near to the Americans that their out-posts were plainly visible during the flashes of lightning, the Filipino spy crept into a bamboo thicket not over fifty feet from an American sentry. After lying there for a half hour, waiting for the storm to come, the native grew a trifle bolder and arose to his knees. That moment the sharp eyes of the sentry caught him. "Corporal of the Guard!" called the sentry in a loud voice. The corporal, being suspicious that something unusual was taking place, in responding to the call took with him two armed privates. Approaching the sentry, with light steps and in a crouching attitude, the corporal said in a heavy whisper, "What's the matter, Jack?" The sentry was standing with gun in hand, loaded, cocked, and with bayonet fixed. Keeping his eye centered on the exact spot where he had last seen the slowly gravitating figure before him, the guard said in an undertone that denoted grave alarm, "Do you see that thicket just to the left of that big mango tree?" "Yes;" said the corporal in a whisper, "What's the trouble?" "There's a man in there," said the sentry. "I saw him quite plainly at first--and I think he's got a gun in his hand. You better watch out, boys. He's still there." The corporal and the two privates fixed the bayonets on their Krag-Jorgensons, filled the magazines, slipped a shell into the barrel of each rifle, cocked them, crouched close to the ground, some ten feet apart, and began to move forward, a step at a time, between the flashes of lightening. Each time it would flash, they would peer into the thicket. Each step brought them nearer. "There he lies!," said one of the privates in a quick out-spoken voice. "Amigo," (a friend) said the stretched-out form, as three guns were raised in unison with the anxious muzzles pointing directly at him. "Este no quere combate" (you don't desire to fight), said the corporal, in crude Spanish. "Mucho amigo" (very friendly), came the reply. "Vamose aque!" (come here), commanded the corporal. With his eyes fixed in theirs, the Filipino raised himself slowly up and came toward the three Americans who stood but twelve feet away. "Take him by the arms," said the corporal to the two privates who were with him, "while I look behind that rice-dyke to see if he had a gun." "Here's what the rascal was up to," said the corporal, holding a Mauser above his head. "Good thing you saw him when you did, Jack." The storm was coming nearer; the first gust of wind had just struck them. It blew back the Filipino's little checkered frock. The corporal saw a glitter. "Watch out! boys, he's got a machete under his coat," said the corporal. He was searched for more weapons and then marched inside the American lines and taken directly to headquarters. A drum-head court was convened at once and the prisoner led in. With hands clinched, muscles taut, eyes piercing at the court, he listened to the reading of the charge: