Bagobo Country
By ten o'clock on the following morning Rick and his friends were
jouncing along a twisting, bumpy road into the foothills of Mindanao.
They had risen with the dawn and taken Philippines Airlines, PAL for
short, to Davao. On arrival they had checked in at the Apo View Hotel
and had lost no time in finding local constabulary headquarters.
Major Paulo Lacson, in charge of the detachment, had instantly ordered a
pair of command cars. Before the Spindrifters quite realized it, they
were whisked out of town, en route to the point where Briotti and
Shannon had vanished. Colonel Rojas' letter of introduction had really
worked magic.
Rick stared out at the tropical landscape, and toward the peak of Mount
Apo, an active volcano over nine thousand feet high, but he didn't
really notice details. In a short while they would be at what he
considered the real start of their search.
The major drove the lead car, with Zircon in front beside him. Rick and
Scotty occupied the rear seat. In the second car were four armed,
enlisted men. As the small convoy roared toward the town of Calinan,
Major Lacson told them all he knew of the case. It was the same
information the three had already received, naturally enough, since
their information had been based on the officer's reports.
Rick shook his head worriedly. If Lacson, obviously an intelligent and
efficient officer, could find out no more, how could three strangers?
The command car whisked by an abaca plantation, with mile after mile of
lush green bananalike abaca plants extending into the foothills.
"Look." Scotty pointed at drying racks on which Manila hemp fiber,
product of the abaca, was drying. The fiber was a honey blond shade.
"It's just the color of Barby's hair," Rick exclaimed.
Major Lacson explained, "Abaca is graded by color. White is best, but
that shade means it is very good. It will bring a good price." Then, as
the command car topped a rise, the major pointed ahead. "There is
Calinan."
The town was a small one, with stores and houses on both sides of a
single main street. The place had a sleepy air.
At the edge of town Lacson drew up in front of a house that flew the
flag of the republic. A sergeant ran out, came stiffly to attention, and
saluted. After a brief command from the major, the sergeant ran to climb
into the second car.
"Juan speaks a little Bagobo," Lacson explained. "He can translate for
us."
The two cars moved through the town, past a group of colorfully arrayed
people with flat turbans. "There are some Bagobos now," Lacson said.
"They come to town to shop."
Rick looked with interest. In the few seconds before the car sped out of
sight he saw that the primitives were light of skin, had pierced ears
from which dangled loops, and that the men wore trousers formed of a
single piece of cloth put on like a skirt, then pulled between the legs
and fastened to an ornate belt. Their clothes were brightly colored.
As Calinan dropped behind, the country turned to tropical forest, with
tall lauan and tanguile trees, the source of so-called Philippine
mahogany. Once Rick saw coffee bushes growing under the trees.
Then, only a short distance from Calinan, the paved road came to an
abrupt end and narrowed to little more than a dirt trail. The command
car bucked over hummocks of cogon grass while the boys held on to keep
from being tossed out. Finally, in a small clearing, the road petered
out entirely.
This was the glade, Lacson explained, in which the truck driver had left
Briotti and Shannon. No one had seen them since.
Towering trees cut off the sun and the air was heavy and damp with the
smell of tropic growth. Mosquitoes whined.
Lacson handed around a small bottle of insect repellent. "Rub in well,"
he directed. "You can leave your coats in the car. It will be a warm
hike."
Rick shed his coat gladly. They had worn their tropical suits, and
Lacson had rushed them off so fast there had been no chance to change.
The major gave orders in Chebucano. Two troopers saluted and fell back.
They would stay with the cars. Juan, the trooper from Calinan, took the
lead as the rest started up the trail that led into the jungle from the
clearing.
"Juan knows the trail," Lacson said. "Also, he is good at spotting
snakes and animals."
Rick fell into line behind Zircon and Lacson. Scotty walked at his side
while the two enlisted men brought up the rear.
It was an eerie hike, through growth so thick one couldn't see more than
five paces on either side of the trail. Overhead the foliage met, and
the group walked through a kind of steaming green tunnel. The sun never
penetrated to the jungle floor, where pale plants grew in profusion.
There was life in the trees overhead, heard but unseen. Once Rick
recognized the howl of monkeys. Again, by the side of the trail, there
was a sudden chittering and a tiny furry form made a fantastic leap to
the safety of a rattan vine. Rick caught a glimpse of a monkeylike face
and huge eyes.
"A tarsier," Zircon remarked. "Shannon had hoped to collect one."
Rick wondered whether Shannon and Briotti had hiked up this trail. The
headman of the Bagobo village had told Lacson that the Americans had not
been seen by his people. Might they have vanished on this trail?
He wiped his face and neck with a sodden handkerchief and plodded ahead
through the green steam bath. Insects formed a cloud around his head,
flew into his eyes and even into his mouth. He bore it stoically. It was
as bad for the others.
Anyone who walked off the beaten trails would be helplessly lost without
a compass or an experienced guide. A man could wander in the dense
growth until death in some unpleasant form claimed him. One couldn't
even see a trail from more than a few feet away.
Half an hour later, Rick saw that the growth was giving way to a
different kind of jungle forest, as the trail sloped upward. In a short
time they entered a more normal forest of tall, white lauans over a
hundred feet high, with strange roots like flying buttresses.
Soon the forest gave way to open plain, sparsely dotted with papaya
trees and a lone mango. Lacson called that they were almost at their
destination. Rick wiped his face and was grateful. His clothes hung on
him as though he had been caught in a torrential rain. In spite of the
insect repellent, he had been chewed by assorted bugs.
He forgot his discomfort at the sight of the village. Apparently
civilization had reached the Bagobos. The huts were of sawed lumber and
tin roofing material. He saw one roof made from an American gasoline
sign.
In contrast with the drab surroundings, the people were bright spots of
color. They eyed the group with frank curiosity, then followed as Juan
led the way to the headman's hut.
The headman met them with dignified courtesy. Rick saw that the man was
nearly six feet tall, with a lean, hawklike face, the skin stretched
tightly over high cheekbones. He looked like an American Indian, but his
skin was the color of a white man who has spent his life outdoors in the
tropics. The Bagobos clearly were of a different race than the
Filipinos.
"That's quite a man," Scotty whispered.
Rick nodded. He, too, was impressed by the headman, except for one
thing. Although the Bagobo talked freely, through Juan, his eyes never
once met those of any of the party. He looked everywhere but at the
visitors.
It was out of character, Rick thought. This man, who obviously had a
kind of fierce, barbaric pride, should look any man squarely in the eye.
The talk went smoothly, and Rick realized the headman had been through
all this before, probably more than once, in interviews with the
constabulary. To each question the Bagobo chieftain answered that he had
seen no Americans, nor had his people. Had they come to the village, he
would know it.
"We'll get nothing here," Zircon finally said to the major. "Frankly, I
expected nothing. If there was information to be gained from this man,
you could have gotten it."
Lacson shrugged. "True, perhaps. But I thought you would want to check
for yourself."
Rick only half listened. He noticed a Bagobo standing nearby, watching
intently, and on impulse walked over to him and held out his hand. The
warrior took it instantly and smiled, his brown eyes on Rick's.
[Illustration: _The warrior shook Rick's hand and smiled_]
Rick returned the smile and walked back to his friends, forehead
wrinkled in thought. That had been a straightforward reaction; the
Bagobo had met his eyes squarely and openly.
On the way back to Davao, Rick pondered the meaning of the headman's
failure to look at any of them. But not until they were cleaning up at
the hotel did he decide to put his thoughts into words.
"The headman lied," Rick stated. "I can't figure it any other way. It's
easy to see that the Bagobos are a proud race. They're any man's equal,
and they know it. The headman should be the proudest of all, but
instead, he was shifty. He wouldn't look at any of us."
"That's right," Scotty acknowledged. "He kept his eyes everywhere but on
us."
Rick nodded. "What's more, he's not a shifty type. He looks like a
fierce old eagle who'd stare down a charging elephant. But he couldn't
look at us because he was lying, and he was ashamed of it."
"You may have something," Zircon agreed after a moment of thought. "I
wasn't that observant, but now that you mention it, I believe the
headman kept his eyes on the ground most of the time. I agree it
certainly seemed out of character."
"If he was lying, what can we do about it?" Scotty asked.
Rick wasn't sure, but he had an idea of how to start. Earlier,
immediately on arrival, he had tried to contact Chahda without success.
Now he got a Megabuck unit, put the earplug into place, and tried again.
"Chahda, this is Rick. Are you on?"
The Hindu boy answered at once, and the signal was loud. He probably was
in the hotel. "Waiting, Rick. Where you been?"
Rick quickly sketched the day's activities, and Chahda replied that he
had spent time with his Indian contacts but had discovered nothing new.
"Okay, Rick," Chahda concluded. "I try to find out why headman lies.
Tomorrow I go to Bagobo village to sell tax-tills. Be back noon, meet
you hotel."
"I hope you find out more than we did," Rick said.
Chahda urged, "Please not to worry. This good day's work. One man who
lies maybe has keys to many doors!"