But their apprehension was speedily relieved. Ned it was who first sighted, carried far back in the ranks of the approaching horsemen, the red, white and blue flag of the republic, with its golden star blazing on the central white band. Never had a flag seemed more welcome to them than this gaudy banner of a South American republic.

The leader of the troop, a young man whom they learned later was Colonel Julio Lazard, galloped up to them with a flourish. The Americans all saluted as he pulled up his horse, a fine, black steed, furnished with a high-peaked, chased-leather saddle and bridle, silver ornamented.

“Americans!” he exclaimed in fair English. “Gentlemen, this is a happy encounter.”
 

“It is for us!” exclaimed Herc, in a loud aside to Ned.

“We mistook you for a scouting party of the enemy, and were about to fire on you,” continued Colonel Lazard cheerfully.

“Phew! this impulsive Latin temperament again,” grinned Stanley, behind his hand, to the two boys.

In the meantime Midshipman Stark had been responding to the other’s salutations. These formalities concluded, Colonel Lazard informed them that he was at the head of the troops which had been repulsed some days previously by the insurgents. He and his staff officers had succeeded in rallying their men after a precipitate flight into the mountains, and were now advancing to take part in a daring dash to the relief of Boca del Sierras.

“The infantry and artillery have gone on ahead,” explained the colonel, “and my cavalry are bringing up the rear in order to guard against any flank attack by the enemy.”

“You think there is danger of Boca del Sierras[278] falling?” inquired Midshipman Stark, after Colonel Lazard had explained this much to the adventurers.

“I fear that such a catastrophe is in grave danger of occurring,” was the rejoinder. “But with my brave troops——,” he continued grandiloquently.

“Just as if they hadn’t all taken to the tall timbers the last time they smelled powder,” whispered the incorrigible Herc.

“But with my brave troops,” went on the officer, who, of course, had not heard the remark, “we will save them if it is humanly possible to do so.”

“You do not think, then, that the insurgent army of the north has united with the other body of troops?” questioned Mr. Stark.

“No,” responded the officer, “and it will be our duty to see that they do not do so. Our scouts inform us, however, that the advance on the city is to be made before noon to-day, so that we have no time to lose. I must marshal my forces at the Hill of the Ten Saints.”
 
The Dreadnought Boys recalled, as he mentioned the name, the location he referred to. It was a small hill outside the city to the north, the value of which, as a strategic position, was at once apparent. Nestling close in under the mighty ramparts of the Sierras themselves, it commanded the northern approach to the city perfectly.

“The battle, if there is one, will resolve itself into a struggle for the possession of that hill,” explained the colonel. “The troops that arrive there first will win the day”—and his brow clouded—“unless the insurgent navy arrives and bombards the city from the sea.”

“Do not worry about that, sir,” Stark assured him. “The navy will not be there.”

“Indeed, you are in possession——”

“Of positive information.”

“Its source, senor?”

“That I cannot divulge. But I can assure you that the navy will not be there.”

The colonel looked at him curiously.

“You will pardon my seeming curiosity, sir,[280] but who or what are you and your companions?”

It will be recollected that the Americans were in plain clothes. Dust-covered and travel-stained as they were, they might have indeed excited curiosity in anybody who had espied them traveling among the war-ridden hills.

For a second the midshipman hesitated, and then compromised by saying:

“You will not misunderstand our motives, sir, when I assure you that it is from no evil intent that I cannot tell you everything about us. Suffice it to say that we are Americans traveling in the country on business—I think I may add, important business. It is essential that we should be in Boca del Sierras to-day, and for that reason we are traversing this road.”

“I appreciate what you say, senor,” rejoined the colonel. “I respect and admire all Americans. They are the government’s friends. If you wish you may travel with us. We are on the eve of a great battle. By accepting our escort you will have a chance to see what the troops of the republic can accomplish.”
 
The offer was naturally accepted with thanks by the midshipman on behalf of the party, and a few minutes later the cavalcade moved forward. They shortly diverged from the main road and struck off upon a narrow trail. So narrow was it that the troopers were compelled to ride in single file in some parts of it. A thick growth of brush screened it perfectly from the view of any one below them—between the mountains and the sea, that is—so that, strategically considered, the colonel had chosen a splendid route for moving his troops.

It was shortly before noon, and the sun blazed hotly down, when they reached a spot where the trail converged into the main road. A few rods beyond the ground sloped upward toward the summit of the Hill of the Ten Saints.

“Forward!” shouted the colonel, as he saw that the coveted elevation was untenanted. “We are the first to arrive.”

But even as he spoke the bushes surrounding the junction of the road and the trail became alive with men, and a raking fire was poured into[282] the cavalry. The insurgents had prepared an ambush, into which Colonel Lazard’s cavalry had walked ............