a brisk pace along the stream and over the rocks to a grove in which they felt they would be comparatively safe until daylight, if no longer.
As the mill-house was left behind, all became quiet, and in the grove nothing disturbed them but the hum of the insects and the occasional cry of some night bird.
Lighting a match, Ben examined the man's wound and bound it up with the major's handkerchief, his own having been left behind with the Spanish woman. The stranger said that his name was Barton Brownell.
"I have been a prisoner of the insurgents for some time," he said, when asked to tell his story. "I was captured just before our troops took Malolos. They had six prisoners all told, and they took us to a place called Guinalo, which is probably forty miles from here, and up in the mountains."
"While you were a prisoner did you see or hear anything of a Lieutenant Caspard?" asked Major Morris, quickly.
"To be sure I did!" burst out Barton Brownell. "He came to see me several times. He has joined hands with the insurgents, and he wanted me to join them, too. But I told him I would
