"But Walter—tell me of him, Doring."
"I can't tell you much. We went ashore together—you heard about that, I reckon."
"Yes! yes! He wasn't—wasn't—" Ben could get no farther.
"No, he wasn't killed by them heathenish natives. We both got away—by the skin of our teeth—and started to come over the mountains to Manila. We had a terrible rough time of it and were most dead when we fell in with these Yorktown prisoners. We helped some of 'em to escape, and in the darkness Walter and a sailor named Palmer got separated from me and the others. Then I was taken prisoner, and about a week later Palmer was recaptured. He said he had been with Walter and had left your brother in the bushes, with a bullet wound in his thigh."
"And did the Filipinos go back for Walter?"
"No; they were pushing on eastward as hard as they could, and they wouldn't listen to anything we said. Of course I didn't want to see Walter caught again, but I thought that would be better than to leave him alone when he was wounded."
"He must be dead!" groaned Ben, and could scarcely keep back the tears. Then he asked for
