"Listen!" exclaimed Dan, as a strange sound reached our ears, above the rising wind. "What is that?"
"It must be a cry for help!" I answered.
"Let us be afther investigatin'," put in Matt Gory. "We may be able to do some feller-critter a big turn."
The cries seemed to come from a hillside ahead, and we mounted this through dense brush that dripped with water.
"There is a hut ahead," said Dan. "The cries come from there."
"It must be a native in distress," I returned, and moved on in advance.
"Help! help!" came suddenly, in an English voice, and we quickened our pace, feeling that one of our own soldier or sailor boys might be in distress.
When we reached the bamboo hut a strange sight met our gaze. On his back lay a white man of at least seventy years of age. Kneeling on his breast was a Tagal with drawn knife, while another Tagal knelt at the old man's side, trying to pull a money bag from his grasp.
"Hi! stop that!" I called out, and, rushing in, kicked one of the Tagals so heavily in his side that he rolled over and over on the earthen floor.
At this the second native leaped up and rushed
