foot. A bullet, sent in low, had ripped the sole of his shoe,
inflicting a painful wound.

"Cease firing, Corporal!" Dave ordered, hobbling to the machine
gun. "Swing her nose around. Now, give it to 'em."

As the machine gun barked forth again the raiders from the mill
found good excuse for halting. There are times when a machine
gun is worth a battalion of infantry.

Yet one bullet is enough to kill a man. A marine fell at Dave's
feet. The young ensign bent over him; one look was enough to
prove that this defender of his countrymen was dead.

As the fire from the machine gun ceased, a wild cheer rose on the
air. Now, from four different points groups of Mexicans rose and
charged, firing as they ran.

One desperate dash, and they would overwhelm the crippled little
Navy party.

Defeat for Dave Darrin's command meant the massacre of all the
survivors of his rescue party, and of the American men and women
in their care!

Ensign Dave Darrin realized this with a sickening heart.