Jane Cable

Every man in the band of newcomers was singing the praises of a wonderfully beautiful Red Cross nurse. The stories told of her charms were varied, but none lacked enthusiasm. Some said she was the daughter of a rich magnate come to do service in the cause of humanity; others were sure she was a great and beautiful actress who was sacrificing everything to conspicuous advertising. All, however, were agreed in the praise of her noble beauty.

The little detachment on guard turned up its collective nose and proudly pointed to Teresa Velasquez.

"Look at that," said Bob Spurrier. "Can she stack up with the hiking queen? Our girl is real quality. She's no common American. She's a grandee's daughter. There's royal blood in her. By thunder, gentlemen, she's blood kin to little Alfonso."

Teresa sought shelter from the curious though admiring eyes of the fresh arrivals.

"I don't like these new soldiers," she complained to Graydon. "I wish they had not come. They talk of this beautiful nurse and they laugh at me. Oh, I wish I had something else to wear."

"Don't worry, little girl, you're worth ten nurses," said he.

"Alas, though I am dressed as a man, I do not feel as bold as one," she lamented.

The next day reinforcements came up and the whole command advanced upon Tilad Pass, where Pilar, at last, had been cornered. On the second of December a desperate conflict took place. Pilar was intrenched in the Pass near the celebrated rock known as El Obispo --"the Bishop." His resistance for a time was valorous and deadly. Corporal Parry saw him mount his horse behind the barricade, six hundred yards away. Parry was the best marksman in the regiment, and turning to his chief officer, asked if he should take a shot at him.

He fired and Pilar fell, face downward; and the Americans crushed the little band of insurgents. Gregorio Del Pilar was dead. His death in the great hills, after a most courageous battle against an overwhelming force, brought to an end a life that would have been worth much to the islands in after years. In his pockets were found valuable papers, letters and keepsakes. The letters were from his sweetheart, Dolores Jose, who lived at Dagupan, and they were tender in the extreme. Her lace handkerchief rested over his heart.

When the Americans, victorious and jubilant, fell back to camp, they had no small number of wounded to turn over to the tender mercies of the little company of Red Cross nurses and the surgeons.

One of the most dangerously injured was Graydon Bansemer. He was one of the first to cross the danger line; a Mauser ball from a distant hill tore through his side, leaving an ugly gaping wound that foretold certain death.