DAVE DARRIN TO THE RESCUE Dave's sword hung at his side.

His revolver was in its scabbard over his left hip, but just out of view of the sentry.
As to his being in uniform, he realized that the night was so dark that there was little danger of his nationality being discovered.
All these thoughts flashed through his mind in a twinkling, as they should with a good officer.
Darrin's course of action was as swiftly decided.
"Amigo," he replied, tranquilly.

"Amigo de los prisoneros!" (Friends of the prisoners).
By the time the second explanation had left his lips Dave had bounded forward, struck aside the rifle, and had gripped the sentry by the throat, bearing him to the ground.
A blow from one of the young ensign's fists, and the fellow lay still.
Espying trouble from the rear, Coxswain Riley started his men on a swift run toward the spot.

In a few moments the sentry, doubtless badly scared, had been gagged, and bound hand and foot with the handy hitches of jack tars.
"Leave him there," Darrin directed in an undertone.

"Coxswain, post eight men around the house, and take command of them.