"That is he, the _sergente_, Overton," growled Vicente Tomba to himself. "Since we have Senor Draney's orders that the _sergente_ is to leave this life as soon as possible, why not to-day? He is going to Bantoc, where it will be easy to snare him. And his friend Terry is not with him. That pair, back to back, might put up a hard fight--but one alone should be easy for our _bravos_. Then, another day, we can plan to get the _Sergente_ Terry." Hal was not quite in Bantoc when a Tagalo on a pony rode by him at a gallop. Hal glanced at the fellow indolently, but did not recognize him, as it was not Tomba, but one of that worthy's messengers. Up and down the principal street Sergeant Overton wandered. He glanced into shops, though only idly, for to-day he was not on a buying mission. At last the cool-looking interior of a little restaurant attracted him. He entered, ordering an ice cream. When this was finished he ate another. It was so restful, sitting here, that when he had disposed of the second order, he paid his account but did not rise at once. "The _sergente_ is newly arrived here?" asked a white-clad Filipino, rising from another table and joining Overton. "Yes." "Then you have not seen much of Bantoc?" asked the Filipino, speaking in Spanish. "Not as much as I mean to see of the town," Hal answered in the same tongue. "Then possibly, Senor Sergente, you have not yet seen the collection of ancient Moro weapons in the shop of Juan Cerverra." "I haven't," Hal admitted. "Then you have missed much, senor, but you will no doubt go to see the collection one of these days." "I'd like to. Where is the shop?" "Four doors below here. If you have time, Senor Sergente, I am walking that way and will show you the place." "Thank you; I'll be glad to go," answered Hal, rising promptly. His was the profession of arms, and a display of any unfamiliar weapons was sure to attract the young sergeant. Juan Cerverra, despite his Spanish-sounding name, proved to be a full-blooded Moro. He wore his Moro costume, with its tight-fitting trousers and short, embroidered blouse. There were no customers in the shop when Hal and his Tagalo acquaintance entered. In another moment Sergeant Hal was deeply absorbed in several wall cases of swords and knives, all of them of old-time patterns. It was a sight that would have bewildered a lover and collector of curios of past ages. One case was filled entirely with fine specimens of that once-dreaded weapon, the Moro "campilan." This is a straight sword, usually, with a very heavy blade, which gradually widens towards the end. This is a heavy cutting sword, and one that was placed in Sergeant Hal's hands, though Cerverra claimed that it was two hundred years old, had an edge like a razor. "How much is such a sword as this?" Hal inquired. "Forty dollars," replied Cerverra. "Gold!" "No; Mex."