As soon as dark had come down, the popping of rifles was almost continuous.

“I wish we had orders to clear the whole town of snipers,” muttered Danny Grin impatiently.

“Undoubtedly that would take more men than we have ashore,” Trent replied.  “There would be no sense in occupying the whole city until we have driven out every hostile Mexican ahead of us.  We might drive the Mexican soldiers much further, but the trouble is that hundreds of them have joined in the sport of sniping at the hated Americanos.  If we pushed our way through the town, at once we would then have Mexican firing ahead of us and also at the rear.  No fighting men behave well under such circumstances.”

An hour later it became plain that Trent’s detachment had some new work cut out for it, for a commissary officer now directed that the men be marched down the street to receive rations.

“We’re going to have night work all right, then, and perhaps plenty of it,” Darrin declared to his chum.  “If we were going to remain here rations wouldn’t be furnished us.”

Trent was inside, personally seeing to matters, when a sentry halted a man in civilian clothes.

“A friend,” replied the man in answer to the challenge.

“Advance and give your name,” persisted the sentry.

“Lieutenant Cantor of the ‘Long Island.’”

At hearing that name, from one in civilian dress, Dave stepped forward.

“You’ve been halted by a man from your own ship, sir,” nodded Darrin, on getting close enough to see that the man really was Cantor.

“Hullo,” was Trent’s greeting, as he stepped outside.  “On duty, Cantor?”

“Not official duty,” replied the other lieutenant.

“You are authorized to be ashore, of course?” continued Trent, surveying his brother officer, keenly, for, at such a time, it was strange to see a naval officer ashore in anything but uniform.  “I have proper authority for being ashore,” Cantor nodded.

“That is all, then,” said Lieutenant Trent.  “You may proceed, of course, but you are going to be halted and held up by every sentry who sees you.  You would get through the town much more easily in uniform.”

“I suppose so,” nodded Cantor, and passed on.

Close at hand two revolver shots rang out.

“Ensign Darrin,” Trent ordered, “take a man with you and investigate that firing.  Locate it, if possible, and if any Mexican attempts to fire again, try to bring him in-----dead!”

“You will come with me,” ordered Dave, turning to Coxswain Riley.  That petty officer hastily filling his magazine, followed Darrin, who drew his own revolver.

Hardly had officer and man turned the corner when a pistol flesh came from the top of a house nearly at the next corner.

The bullet did not pass near enough for them to hear it.  Plainly the shot had been fired at some one else.