“It’s a marvel,” gasped Trent, after having taken a pocket electric light and by its rays examined the young ensign.  “I believe every one of those Mexicans aimed at you.”

“It seemed so, sir,” Dave laughed.

Danny Grin had already gone, and without orders.  The instant he was satisfied that his chum was uninjured Dalzell had leaped away in the wake of the party led by the boatswain’s mate.  Now Dan was climbing in through the window, helped by two seamen who had been left on guard outside.

But the search of the house revealed only one dead Mexican, not in uniform, who had been killed by the sailormen’s fire, and a trail of blood that must have been shed by the wounded enemy as they were carried away.

“Bandits—–­Cosetta’s men—–­not soldiers, this time,” was Dan’s instant guess.

The miscreants and their wounded, as the blood trail showed, had escaped by way of the rear of the house.  None were in sight by the time the Americans reached the back yard.

“Shall we pursue, sir?” asked the boatswain’s mate, saluting.

“In what direction?” asked Dalzell, scanning the ground.  “The rascals can run faster than we can follow a trail of blood.  But you may go back to Lieutenant Trent, report just what we have found, and bring me his orders.”

“Lieutenant Trent believes that you are not likely to catch up with the fugitives, and there would be danger of running a handful of men into a cunning Mexican ambush,” the petty officer reported, two minutes later.

After that the night dragged slowly.  Trent allowed some of his men to sleep in doorways an hour or so at a time, but there were enough sailormen awake to handle any sudden surprise or attack.

At four in the morning Trent’s command was relieved by a company of marines with two machine guns.

Lieutenant Trent, under orders, marched his command back to a park in which tents had been pitched.  Here, under blankets on the ground, the tired sailormen and their three officers were allowed to sleep until noon.

By daylight of that day, Wednesday, the first detachment ashore had been strongly reinforced.

There was still much sniping in the city, though now the firing came mostly from the rear of the town.  Slowly, patiently, the Navy detachments pushed their way forward, attending to snipers and also searching houses for concealed arms and ammunition.

In the course of this search hundreds of Mexicans were arrested.  Even some very small boys were found with knives.

On the third day the residents of the city were warned that all who possessed arms must take their weapons to the provost officer’s headquarters.  About nineteen hundred men, women and boys turned in their weapons, running all the way from the latest models of rifles down to century-old muskets.

Soon after orders were issued that all natives found armed were to be executed on the spot.  To the average American this might have seemed like a cruel order, but now the list of dead sailormen and marines had reached twenty-five, and there were scores of wounded American fighting men.  Stern steps were necessary to stop the deadly sniping.