THE LOW CALL OF A WOLF.
When Jimmie left the _Manhattan_ he thought it would be perfectly easy
to follow Ned into the jungle. Before leaving Captain Godwin's charge
the boys had been provided with bolos, and the youngster slipped one
under his jacket before leaving the motor boat. This he used to good
purpose, though with great caution, as he crept through the thickets.
As is well known, it is almost impossible to make headway in a
Philippine forest without chopping down creepers and tangled vines. The
bolo is always in use by parties hunting or exploring. It is a short,
heavy sword, or knife, similar to the machete of Cuba, and is frequently
used in warfare. In the hands of an expert it becomes a very effective
weapon.
Gaining the thicket, Jimmie stood still and listened for some indication
of the presence of his patrol leader. But the patter of the rain, the
rustling of the great leaves, the scolding of the wet and alarmed
monkeys in the trees about him, served to shut out any other sounds.
He walked as fast as he could through the jungle toward the center of
the island, or in the direction which he believed to be the center.
Always his way was uphill, and now and then he was obliged to draw
himself up some acclivity by pulling, hand over hand, on a creeper
trailing from a tree.
Certain that he could find his way back, he did not blaze the way. Here
and there he hewed down a thorny limb which tore at his clothes, or cut
a creeper from a tree, but he made no effort to mark his path.
Occasionally he came to a little glade, a space clear of trees but
hemmed in by the eternal jungle just the same. Here the way was choked
with rank cogon grass, growing from eight to twelve feet high. He found
this as mean a growth to pass through as any briar patch or cane-brake.
Cogon grass seems a useless parasite on the bosom of old Mother Earth,
and yet it presents a compensation in its gorgeous white bloom, for,
like the poppy, the cogon is a show-piece of nature, and she flaunts it
in places where beauty is needed, too. Jimmie had never seen a field of
buckwheat in blossom, or he might have compared the cogon stretches to
fields in the United States at certain seasons of the year.
Even in his haste, in the uncomfortable day, the boy stopped to gaze in
wonder at the wonderful balete tree, which is a representative of the
fig family. This tree begins life as a parasite, at least it springs to
life in a crotch of some other tree. Here it thrives on the humus and
decayed vegetable matter and sends long, winding tendrils down to the
ground.
These tendrils take root and grow with such vigor that the supporting
trunk is rapidly enveloped in a coalescing mass of stems, while its own
branches are overtopped by the usurper, which kills it eventually as
much by stealing its sunshine as by appropriating the soil at its base.
When very old these trees possess a massive trunk, usually, with a large
cavity in the middle where the trunk of the other tree rotted out. Some
of the younger trees, however, seem to stand on stilts.
Jimmie saw many things to marvel at, for a Philippine forest is not at
all like a forest in the states of New York or Illinois. In the glades
he saw plants of enormous size, with leaves seven feet long. He came
upon rattan or bejuco thickets, where thorns, pointing down the stems
like barbs on a fish-hook, snatched at his clothes and clung to them
too.
A variety of this plant has a stem, trailing on the ground, five hundred
feet long. This stem is hollow and divided into compartments by
diaphragms at the joints, like the bamboo. Each compartment contains
about a mouthful of pure water.
Jimmie climbed upward for half an hour, thinking every moment that he
would come upon some trace of Ned, but Ned, as the reader knows, was at
that time waiting in the cabin of the _Manhattan_ for the return of his
friend. Unconsciously he wandered off to the right, or north, and
presently came to an elevation from which he could overlook the
rain-splashed waters of the China Sea.
By the time he reached this position Ned was also in the forest, hoping
to meet Jimmie as well as to learn the meaning of the signals from the
unknown launch and the firing on the island. Ned, however, for a long
time kept to the left, and when at last he came to an elevation he was
at least a mile away from that to which Jimmie had ascended.
From the hill--it could not be termed a mountain, though it was of
volcanic formation--Jimmie looked into a glade from which the smoke of a
fire ascended. He would have observed the two columns of smoke which had
been seen from the motor boat had he reached the position earlier, or if
he had not been surrounded by the thicket when the Boy Scout signal rose
to the sky.
He could see people moving about the fire, which was partially protected
from the storm by a heavy canvas on the windward side. A crude shelter
composed of great leaves and canvas was also seen, and in this he
thought he saw several reclining figures. By this time the boy had given
up all hope of coming upon Ned, and also of finding his way back to the
_Manhattan_ without a careful study of the location.
From the place where he stood he could look over a large portion of the
island. He could see a river running to the east, and wondered if the
bay in which the motor boat was lay not near the mouth of the stream.
Still, there were many indentations in the shores of the little isle; he
could not discover the _Manhattan_ in any of them.
He studied over the situation for a time and then arrived at the
conclusion that he could best find his way back to the boat by following
the line of the coast. That, however, necessitated a long journey and,
perhaps, the swimming of streams which would doubtless take him far into
the night, and a Philippine jungle is no place to travel in the
darkness. Besides being decidedly uncomfortable, such a trip would be
dangerous. Even if there were no wildcats on the island, there were
plenty of reptiles. Then he caught sight of a launch off to the east and
changed his plans.
His idea was to circle the camp and gain a position between it and the
place where the launch had made its appearance. If the people on the
boat were planning to land he wanted to see them before they reached the
camp. If they were enemies he thought he could avoid them readily
enough; if they were friends they might assist him in releasing the
prisoners.
"Of course they're in with the game that's goin' on, though," he mused,
as he made his way around the hill. "If they wasn't, what would they be
comin' to the island for? There's no one here to visit--or wouldn't be
if this party of dagoes hadn't landed. The men in the launch are here to
meet the others, and that's all there is to it. I'm goin' to see what
their business is!"
It was growing dim over the forest when Jimmie gained the position he
sought, and there were lights in the launch down in a little bay and
lights in the camp halfway up the hill. The rain still came down
heavily, driven with considerable force by the wind, and the boy was, of
course, soaked to the skin and suffering from the stings of the insects
which swarm in Philippine forests, but still he waited patiently for
some signs of communication between the people on the boat and those in
the camp.
There was no stir in the thicket which lay between the two, and Jimmie
concluded that he had arrived too late to witness the meeting of the two
parties. The next thing to do was to get as close to the camp as he
could without danger of detection and observe what was taking place
there. It might be even possible, he thought, to get near enough to hear
something of the conversation.
With this object in view he moved as stealthily as possible through the
jungle, up the hill, toward the fire, shining dimly in the rain. Much to
his surprise he found no guards posted about the camp. When fifty yards
away, concealed from any possible view of those about the fire by a mass
of creepers, he saw that the inhabitants of the camp were hustling about
in the work of building a good-sized shelter of the huge leaves which
grew about. The reclining forms in the shelter he had first seen were
now only partly in sight.
"They are tryin' to keep the prisoners dry, anyway," the boy thought.
The shelter last spoken of was at the right of the fire, and Jimmie
circled off so as to reach it from the rear, his purpose being to learn
if the persons lying there were really the men who had been carried away
from the island where Captain Godwin had his headquarters.
Presently he came upon a group of four people, standing, somewhat
protected from the storm, under a great tree. He drew as close as he
dared, even risking discovery, and listened. He could hear voices above
the wailing of the wind and the patter of the rain, but could not
understand what was being said. The conversation was being carried on in
a tongue with which he was unfamiliar.
"Three of them are Chinks," he mused, when, in moving about, the men
came between his line of vision and the slow flame of the fire. "They
wear their shirts outside their trousers and have their hair done up
like the Chinese in Pell street!"
Directly the fourth man of the party, who seemed to be an American, or,
at least, an Englishman, asked:
"And the treaty? Will they sign?"
The others nodded and chattered away in their own tongue.
"When will they be here?" he then asked.
More chattering followed, and then the four hastened to the shelter
which was being constructed. Jimmie gathered from the two questions he
had heard that the island had been chosen as a meeting place, and that
the shelter was being built for the accommodation of those expected.
He had heard something of the purpose of the government in sending Ned
to the Philippines, and remembered now that there had been talk of a
possible organization of the native tribes against the United States
government. Now he suspected that the chiefs were to meet there to
execute the treaty which was to tie the tribes together and bring about
an armed revolt against American occupancy.
"It looks to me," he thought, "like the Chinese were at the bottom of
the trouble. I guess China would like to get a foothold here!"
There was nothing more to be learned from the position he occupied, and
so he moved on, always keeping to the right of the campfire, blazing
dimly in the rain and requiring constant care, until he came out in a
thicket close to the rear of the shelter where the men he believed to be
prisoners lay. In five minutes he was at the canvas wall of the refuge,
listening.
All was still inside, and it was evident that the conspirators did not
suspect that they had been followed to their retreat. Looking about, he
saw that most of the men of the party were still busily engaged in
constructing the shelter and that no one was near the place he wished to
investigate, so he cautiously lifted a corner of the canvas and looked
inside.
The men there were four in number, and all seemed to be bound hand and
foot! The captors were not taking any chances on escape, although they
evidently believed themselves to be in full possession of the little
island. All was still inside the shelter except that the rain descended
steadily on the leaf roof and now and then a low moan came from the
front of the place.
"That must be the man they cut up," thought the boy. "I wonder if it is
Lieutenant Rowe who is wounded?"
While the boy waited, uncertain what course to pursue, another signal
came from the shore and was answered by another pistol shot.
"Another bunch of Chinks!" he thought.
The signals brought considerable excitement to the camp, and Jimmie
concluded that the new arrival must be a person of some importance. In a
short time nearly every person in the camp rushed away down the hill
toward the bay where the first launch was anchored, as if to welcome the
new arrivals.
"Now's my time!" thought the boy, and in an instant his inquisitive head
was thrust under the canvas, and then the low, snarling call of a wolf
penetrated the shadowy place where the men he believed to be prisoners
lay.
The effect of the signal was instantaneous. A figure half arose and
dropped back again, only to roll over and over in the direction from
which had come the Boy Scout signal used by all members of the Wolf
Patrol. As the bound figure came awkwardly rolling on, Jimmie saw, with
what joy may be readily understood, a red head shining in the firelight!
Never in all his life had any color looked so good to Jimmie as that
brilliant red did at that time!
"Pat Mack?" he whispered.
The figure wiggled and twisted vigorously, but there was no verbal
reply.
"I'll bet dollars to doughnuts they've put a stick in his mouth," said
Jimmie, and this whispered observation was answered by another muscular
demonstration.
"Sure," muttered the boy, "it is Pat an' he's tryin' to talk to me with
his feet, an' them tied up plenty!"
Bolo in hand he crept into the shelter, although the sound of voices
told him that the people who had gone down the hill were now returning.
He could not see the cords which held the still struggling man, but he
found them with his fingers and cut them, not quite certain that he was
serving a friend, but willing, under the circumstances, to take the
risk. First the cords which held the feet were severed, then those which
held the wooden gag in place, then that which confined the hands.
When this last cord was cut two muscular arms flew up and seized the boy
about the neck, drawing his head down until his nose was buried in the
wet clothes of the man he had released.
"Let up!" he muttered in a smothered voice.
Still the powerful arms drew him down, and the boy was beginning to
wonder if he had not better use his bolo when a voice whispered:
"Jimmie! Is it dead we both are?"
"We will soon be if you don't let up!" answered Jimmie.
"Jimmie from the Bowery?" demanded the other.
"Sure!" was the reply. "What is this, anyway, a catch-as-catch-can? If
you don't let up I'll take a rib out with my bolo."
With a spring which almost keeled the boy over the figure sprang up,
ducked under the dripping canvas, and crouched in the thicket from which
Jimmie had observed the tent. Jimmie's first thought was to follow, then
he thought of the remaining prisoners and turned to cut their bonds.
But he was too late. As he turned three men came to the front of the
shelter and bent low for the purpose of entering. To have hesitated
longer would have been to invite capture, and so, with a sigh of regret,
the boy shot under the canvas and joined the other in the thicket.
"It's leg bail for it!" came the familiar voice of Pat Mack, and the
boys poked their faces into the thicket and kept going, regardless of
the thorns and creepers which tore at their garments and tripped their
feet. It was so dark now that they could not see a hand held two inches
from their eyes, but they kept on, making as little noise as possible.