"Plucky little devil!" he said, half-aloud.

Again the sick man groaned, tried to rise from the blankets and
speak, but only to fall back moaning. Connell cautioned him against
exertion and promised that no harm should come to either of them.
While he reported the discovery to Captain Groce, he had the man
carried to another part of the church and there made comfortable.
For the first time now, Bansemer began to notice the pain in his
arm. Somewhat angrily, he turned to the boy:

"Come! Give an account of yourself! How came you here?"

"Prisoners," was the sullen answer.

"Of the Filipinos?" Bansemer asked, in surprise.

"Yes."

"Then why did you try to kill me?"

"I hate you both! We Spaniards, have we not as much to fear from
you? What difference does colour make in brutes?"

"By the holy apostles! you're a gritty, young 'un!" growled the
returning sergeant. "Who's the other chap?"

"My brother--he's dying," said the boy, his voice softening. "Holy
Virgin, save him! For weeks, we've been in the hands of Aguinaldo's
men. He's been so ill, all the time; have you a doctor?"