Manotok the Mighty
At breakfast the next morning Rick and Scotty were subjected to an
amused scrutiny by Tony. He ticked off the items on his fingers.
"Rick has a slight mouse under one eye, and his left arm seems a little
stiff. I noticed that he sat down gingerly, and that there is a very
pronounced bruise on the side of his jaw. Hands would indicate that he
has been playing with a rather rough cat, except that I happen to know
he was scrambling around in some cadena de amor.
"Scotty is also wearing a mouse under one eye, perhaps a little more
prominent than Rick's. And he has a long scratch behind the left ear,
obviously caused by some sharp instrument."
The archaeologist grinned. "If you do that to each other, what would you
do to an enemy?"
The boys grinned back. "Can't tell you until we catch an enemy," Rick
replied. "Actually, most of my terrible wounds came from falling down."
"Same here," Scotty agreed. "And that sharp instrument you mentioned was
the edge of a tin can."
Tony spooned succulent orange-colored papaya melon with appreciation.
"Have either of you figured out what our Ifugao friend--let's assume
that he was an Ifugao--wanted in my room last night?"
"The only answer I can think of is the obvious one," Rick answered. "He
probably thought we have a map or something showing the location of the
golden skull. He wanted it."
"I accept the hypothesis only because I haven't a better one," Tony
said. "How about you, Scotty?"
Scotty shrugged. "Can't buy it. But on the other hand, I don't have any
theory. Wish Sherlock Holmes were here."
"We could use him," Briotti admitted. "Well, what's the program for
today?"
"Off to Baguio," Rick replied. "But first, we'll have to rent or buy a
truck. The plane can't carry us plus our gear, and we'll need the truck
to take our stuff into the mountains. Scotty and I can do that. What are
your plans?"
"There's an American anthropologist here I'd like to see. He's
internationally known. Name of J. Walter McGowan. I made a tentative
appointment yesterday. I'm sure he will have some information on the
Ifugaos that will be of interest. Probably Okola has included in his
papers on the subject everything McGowan knows, but I'd like to talk
with him just to get the feel of things, so to speak."
"Then why don't you do that this morning?" Rick suggested. "We'll get
the truck, load the gear, and get ready to take off."
"Wonder where that Filipino Angel is?" Scotty asked. "Wasn't he supposed
to be here this morning?"
"I don't think Okola specified a time," Tony replied. "And the morning
is still pretty young."
That was true enough, Rick thought. Besides, he had the impression that
the Filipinos, although they followed Western customs, had the Far
Easterners' disregard of time.
"If the Angel doesn't arrive, one of us will have to drive the truck to
Baguio," he said. "I had hoped he would take the truck, then we three
could fly."
Scotty asked, with deceptive casualness, "Tony, what do you think of Dr.
Okola?"
Tony answered promptly. "A first-rate scientist and a distinguished
gentleman besides. Why?"
"Do you trust him?"
"Implicitly. We're not dealing with a stranger here, Scotty. Okola's
name has been known to me since I first became interested in
archaeology. We have many mutual friends, and he has been very helpful
and courteous since this project was first proposed. Yes, I trust him."
"That's good," Scotty said, "since we're buying the services of this
Angel purely on his say-so. We'll have to trust Angel. We have no
choice."
"True. I'm prepared to trust him, simply because Okola said we could."
Rick nodded agreement. "I'll take him on faith, too." He had learned not
to be overtrustful in far places among strangers, but he agreed with
Tony's estimate of Okola. The man, he believed, was just what he seemed
to be--a Filipino scientist and gentleman. He had liked Okola.
"All right," Scotty said. "I'll go along. Okola seemed like a real
_compadre_. But how about Lazada? Do you trust him?"
Tony considered. He finished his papaya, then tackled a mango salad, an
unusual but delicious breakfast dish. "I don't _dis_trust him," he said
finally. "That's negative, but the best I can do. He's not the type of
individual who appeals to me very much, but without further evidence I'd
hesitate to mark him untrustworthy."
"I have a hunch," Rick said. "My hunch says that Mr. Lazada is crooked
as a helical coil. I wouldn't trust him anywhere, any time."
Scotty agreed. "I would have said he's no straighter than the cutting
edge of a saw. And he's just about that sharp, too. Trouble with you is,
Tony, you're too civilized. You always see the best in everything,
including people."
"Don't you?" Tony asked mildly.
The boys chuckled. Of course they did, and Tony knew it. But on an
expedition like this, their suspicions came to the fore and they
automatically distrusted everyone. Lack of distrust had caused them much
trouble on other expeditions, and had come close to costing them their
lives.
The headwaiter approached. "There is a man to see Dr. Briotti. Shall I
have him wait?"
"That must be Okola's man," Tony said. "No, please bring him here."
The three watched with interest as the headwaiter went to the door and
returned leading a short, dark man.
Rick examined him with interest. At first glance the Filipino seemed
quite short, as so many of his race are. Then Rick's discerning eyes saw
the breadth of his shoulders. And he saw that the man wasn't really very
short; he only seemed to be because of his extraordinary shoulder width.
The man was dressed simply but neatly in typical Filipino style with
white trousers and a white shirt. The shirt had no tail, but was cut
square at the bottom like a sport shirt. The collar was sport-shirt
style, too, worn open, and disclosed a muscular throat.
The man bowed slightly. "Dr. Briotti?"
"I am Briotti." He indicated the boys. "Mr. Brant and Mr. Scott. And
you?"
"I am Angel Manotok, at your service. Dr. Okola said that you needed a
driver, guide, and general handyman. He said that he had recommended
me."
"Yes. Please sit down. Will you have breakfast?"
"Some coffee, perhaps. I have already had breakfast."
Angel Manotok had a strong, square face. Rick thought that he looked
very much like an American Indian. His hair was thick and very black,
and freshly cut into a sort of crew cut.
"You will want to see my papers," Angel said.
He produced a wallet and extracted several documents. The Spindrifters
examined them. There was a Philippine driver's license, a United States
Army driver's license indicating that the bearer was qualified to drive
military vehicles, an honorable discharge from the Philippine Scouts,
which had been a part of the United States Army, and a certificate from
the Philippine Public Health Service certifying that Angel Manotok, as
of three weeks ago, had been X-rayed and found free of tuberculosis.
"So you were in the Philippine Scouts," Scotty remarked.
Angel grinned, showing strong white teeth. "I have been many things,
including a scout. I have also been a lumberjack in Zambales Province, a
gold miner in Baguio, and a farmer in Mindanao."
"You speak remarkably good English," Tony commented.
"Thank you, sir. You will notice from my discharge that I was a sergeant
in the Philippine Scouts. I had the advantage of American military
schools. I also attended college--the Ateneo de Manila, which has
American Jesuit priests as teachers. I did not graduate, unfortunately,
but I did learn your language rather better than most Filipinos."
Rick liked Angel at once. He nodded at Tony and Scotty, and they nodded
back. Tony at once began discussing salary and general arrangements with
Angel.
When they had reached an agreement, Angel grinned. "Now I can tell you.
Since Dr. Okola was very anxious for me to go, I was prepared to work
for you just for food. But a salary is much better."
"Much," Tony agreed. "We prefer it that way, too, although I appreciate
your loyalty to Dr. Okola."
"Where is your baggage?" Rick asked.
"I left it outside at the desk. I haven't much to carry along. Just work
clothes and a few tools."
"Where can we get a truck?" Scotty inquired.
"What kind would you like?"
Rick answered. "An Army six-by-six, if possible."
"That can be done. Rent or buy?"
"Which do you suggest?"
"Rent. Let me do it for you. I can bargain much better than you can."
"Fine," Rick agreed. "We'll go with you and watch."
Angel shook his head. "Better not. If the dealer knows the truck is for
Americans, the price will go up. If he thinks it is for a Filipino, the
price will be low. Let me get a truck--I'll be sure it's a good one--and
meet you here."
Rick considered. "No, let's make another plan. I want to spend a little
more time checking my plane. Suppose you get the truck, then meet us at
Hangar 18 at the airport. We can come back here and load after lunch.
Then we can fly to Baguio while you follow with the truck."
"Have you ever driven to Baguio?" Scotty asked.
"Many times. It takes between six and seven hours, depending on the
traffic. Some parts of the road aren't very good, and traffic piles up."
"Then if you leave at noon, you should be in Baguio at dinnertime."
"Yes. Shall I go now? I will need a hundred pesos. That is for a deposit
on the truck."
Tony opened his billfold. "Let's see. That's fifty dollars. Is American
money all right?"
Angel smiled. "American money is always all right, everywhere. I will
get a truck and then come to the airport. Yes?"
"Yes. And glad to have you with us," Rick said.
Scotty and Tony echoed his remark and they shook hands all around. Angel
tucked the pesos into his wallet and hurried out.
"Good deal," Scotty said. "He's a lot of man. Notice those shoulders?
And his hands show he's used to work. I like him."
Rick and Tony did, too, and said so. "I feel better about him going off
alone with our stuff," Rick said.
"Except for the SS," Scotty added, referring to the earth scanner. "You
heard what he said about the road to Baguio? That's a delicate gadget
and we don't want it banged around too much."
"You've got a point," Rick agreed. "Suppose we take it with us in the
plane?"
"Good idea." Scotty rose. "Tony, we'll go on to the airport and meet you
here about eleven thirty. Okay?"
"That will give me plenty of time." The scientist hesitated. "I know
you'll take care of yourselves. Remember that we have a sniper after us.
Not to mention an Ifugao with no palate. Incidentally, I suspect that
our friend Angel has a little Igorot or Ifugao blood. Did you notice
that he resembles the American Indian?"
"I did," Rick said. "Would it be unusual for him to have Igorot blood?"
"Not particularly. There is some intermarriage of Christian Filipinos
with the pagans. Also, Angel may have some Chinese blood, which would
account for the unusually high cheekbones and rather flat face. He
doesn't have the Mongoloid eye fold which gives the appearance of slant
eyes, but that means nothing. Many Filipinos with Chinese blood lack
it."
"What are the Filipinos, anyway?" Scotty asked as they walked to the
door.
"Originally, the Filipinos were of almost pure Malay blood. But there
was much intermarriage with the Chinese and the Spanish, and now,
particularly around Manila, _mestizos_, which is what persons of mixed
race are called, are very common."
Tony hailed a taxi at the door and the boys went to their room. Rick had
put a thread across the bottom of the casement window. It was not
disturbed, nor was the chair he had carefully placed so that anyone
coming through the door would move it slightly. There had been no
prowlers while they were at breakfast.
The boys opened the case containing the earth scanner and lifted out the
leather carrying cases which contained the electronic controls and
amplifiers and the delicate scanning tube. They carried the cases down
to the lobby and took a cab to the airport.
The ride was pleasant, since the way to the airport was along Dewey
Boulevard, which edged Manila Bay. Far across the bay they could see the
American Naval Station at Cavite. And to the north was Mariveles
Mountain on Bataan Peninsula.
Here and there the sail of a banca dotted the brown water. In the
bancas--outrigger canoes--were fishermen. A large part of the Filipino
diet was fish.
The highway branched away from the bay finally, and a short time later
they arrived at the modern airport, once the American Air Corps base of
Nichols Field.
The Sky Wagon was as they had left it, apparently undisturbed. But they
were not taking anything for granted. Rick and Scotty checked the plane
over literally inch by inch, searching for signs of tampering.
As Rick examined the landing struts, a shadow fell across the doorway.
He looked up to see an American watching him.
The American stepped forward. He was of medium height, with close
cropped sandy hair. He wore a yellow T shirt under a white linen coat.
His trousers were gray rayon, and his footgear was openwork sandals. He
looked comfortable and cool, even in the broiling Philippine sun. Rick
judged him to be about forty years old.
"Mind if I look?" the man asked.
"Not at all," Rick answered politely. He hesitated, then introduced
himself and Scotty, who had come around from the other side of the
plane.
"My name is Nast. James Nast. You must be two of the scientific party I
read about in the Manila _Bulletin_."
"I didn't know anything about us had been in the papers," Rick replied.
"This morning," Nast said. He took a tabloid-size paper from his pocket,
unfolded it to the item, and handed it to them.
The item was brief. It merely stated that a party headed by Dr. Anthony
Briotti, with Mr. Richard Brant and Mr. Donald Scott, had been
entertained by the Assistant Secretary of the Interior at dinner prior
to their departure to Mountain Province to search for primitive
artifacts. Dr. Okola, of the University of the Philippines, local
adviser to the American party, also had attended the dinner.
"Lazada must have given that to the press," Rick remarked.
"Probably," Nast agreed. "Filipino politicos are like our own. They live
on publicity. Please don't let me intrude. I came to the airport to meet
a shipment from Hong Kong, but the plane is late, so I've been wandering
around sightseeing."
"Are you in business?" Scotty asked.
"Yes. Import-export. I import Chinese silver, both alloyed and pure, and
have it fabricated by Filipinos. Mostly into filigree work. Then I
export it to America. I also import Siamese and Indo-Chinese silks which
are made into all sorts of things and then exported to America. I was
expecting a silk shipment this morning. My agent in Hong Kong gets it
from Siam and Indo-China, and forwards it."
"Been out here long?" Rick inquired.
"Since the war. I first came here when I was in the Navy. Liked it so
well I took my discharge here and stayed. Going to be in Manila long?"
"Just a few hours." Rick wiped sweat from his face. "We're going to
Baguio."
"So am I. Perhaps I'll see you there."
"Really? What's Baguio like?"
"Plenty of local color. And the weather is great. It's high in the
mountains and very cool. You'll sleep under blankets tonight, and so
will I." Nast wiped his face, too. "This shipment goes by truck to
Baguio, and I'm going to ride along with it." He wiped his face again.
"Why don't you take your coat off?" Scotty asked.
Nast grinned. "Because I've got a .38 automatic in a shoulder holster."
The boys stiffened. Rick and Scotty exchanged glances.
"The road to Baguio isn't the safest in the world," Nast explained.
"It's fairly peaceful now, but bandits still operate up through Pampanga
Province. I carry a gun to discourage interest in my shipments."
Now that he had mentioned it, Rick could see the bulge of the shoulder
holster. But it was a good job of tailoring and he realized that the
linen jacket had been made to conceal the shoulder gun.
"The plane from Hong Kong won't be in for at least a half hour," Nast
said. "Mind if I stick around? It's a pleasure to talk to Americans. I
deal mostly with Filipinos out in the _barrios_, the small towns where
my fabricating is done, and I don't see Americans very often."
"Glad to have you, if you don't mind our going ahead with our work,"
Rick told him.
"Don't let me get in the way. Go right ahead."
The boys did so, and Rick explained the fine points of the Sky Wagon to
Nast while he worked to check every possible point of sabotage. He liked
talking about the plane. It was something to be proud of. And Nast was
an interested listener who apparently knew something about planes.
After the check up, they rolled the plane outside and Rick warmed up the
engine. Then, while he was testing the radio, Angel Manotok arrived with
a truck. Rick immediately shut the engine off and got out, curious to
see what Angel had found. Scotty was already looking it over, with Nast
an interested spectator. Rick introduced him to Angel, then asked:
"Is it in good condition?"
"Very good. The man said it had been overhauled recently, and I believe
him. The tires are in good condition and there are two spares."
The truck was a typical Army vehicle with double rear wheels, both front
and rear drive, and a winch on the front. The motor purred sweetly.
Angel had apparently done well.
Nast asked, "Going to use both the truck and the plane? Or will you
leave the plane at Baguio?"
"We're not sure," Rick said. "Depends on whether we find a landing place
at Bontoc. Have you been there?"
"A few times. There are no decent fields. But you could land on the
road. It's black top, and there are few power lines or phone lines. I
think you can do it."
"Glad to hear that," Rick said, relieved. To Scotty and Angel he said,
"We can go on back to the hotel and load the truck. We'll have to check
the plane engine before take-off, anyway."
"Think the plane will be safe?" Scotty asked.
"Sure. We'll put it in the hangar and lock the door. I notice the
airport guards go by pretty often, and besides, the plane has been all
right so far."
"I guess you're right," Scotty agreed. "But let's put the alarm out,
anyway."
The alarm was a very loud horn wired into a circuit which caused it to
go off if the plane was so much as touched. Rick set it, then locked the
door of the plane. Removing the key from the lock activated the circuit.
Then they closed and locked the hangar door. The plane would be all
right.
Nast was talking to Angel Manotok in Tagalog. Angel was replying, but
not very enthusiastically.
Rick spoke up. "You speak the local language pretty well, Mr. Nast."
"Have to," Nast said cheerfully. "The Filipino families that work for me
can't speak English, often as not. Well, good hunting. Perhaps we'll
meet in Baguio."
The boys shook hands. "Good luck to you. Hope your shipment arrives."
"It will. The planes from Hong Kong are often late. The airport there is
closed in half the time from fog. Good luck."
The boys got into the truck with Angel and he drove out to the main
highway.
"What were you and Nast talking about?" Scotty asked.
Angel took his time about answering. "He just wanted to know when we
were going to Baguio. I think he was making small talk. Maybe he wanted
to show off his Tagalog."
"Was his Tagalog good?" Rick asked.
"Yes. Very good."
Angel said no more, and Rick wondered for a moment. What had Nast really
said? He decided that it wasn't of any importance. Perhaps Nast was one
of those Americans who always talk to people of other lands in a
half-insulting way. Rick had met them--and mighty poor advertisements
for America they were.
They parked the truck behind the hotel and took Angel to their room.
"We'll get help and have the crates carried down for you." Rick said.
Angel grinned. "Why bother? You two take one and I'll take the other."
The boys looked at each other. True, the crates weren't huge, but each
was a hefty load for two men.
"Stop bragging," Scotty said. The jocular tone of his voice made a
playful challenge of the words.
Angel took the challenge. He went to the largest crate, swung it easily
to his head, and balanced it with one hand. "Let's go," he said,
grinning.
Scotty stepped forward, blood in his eye, and tackled the second crate.
He got it up, but it was obvious that it was too much of a load even for
his above-normal strength. Rick lent a hand and they carried the crate
along behind Angel, who walked as though he had a feather pillow
balanced on his head.
"Manotok the Mighty," Scotty said, and there was genuine awe in his
voice.
Angel pronounced his name in the Spanish style, _Ahng-hel_, but now he
shifted to the English pronunciation and said, "I'm an angel, and my
strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure."
The boys laughed. "That was first applied to Galahad, wasn't it?" Rick
asked.
"Don't know," Angel replied. "But I like it, anyway."
The crates took up little room in the truck. Angel lashed them in, then
the three went to the main dining room to meet Tony. They had time for a
glass of limeade before the scientist showed up. He came to the table
and asked, "Do you know a man by the name of Nast?"
Rick's eyebrows went up. "Yes. Met him this morning. Why?"
"He left a phone message at the desk. Wants you to call him."
Rick rose and went to the lobby, puzzled. What could Nast want? He got
the number Nast had left. It turned out to be the freight office at the
airport. Then there was a wait while the man was paged. At last he came
to the phone.
"Brant?... Nast here. Look, I'm terribly sorry to impose on such short
acquaintance, but I want to ask a favor. My shipment came in, but now I
can't get a truck. The one I usually ship on has a regular run, and the
driver took off for Baguio without checking. So I'm stranded. If you
haven't too much of a load, could I ride along with your Filipino
driver? My shipment weighs only two hundred pounds."
Rick considered. Nothing in the truck would be in any danger. The earth
scanner was safely stowed in the luggage compartment of the plane.
Nast added, "I'll be glad to pay for the trip. It will save me waiting
over until tomorrow."
"No need," Rick said. "We'll be glad to accommodate you. Meet you at the
hangar in an hour." He hung up, very thoughtful. Why should his
instincts rebel against doing Nast such a small favor? Again he told
himself that no harm could come of it. Even if Nast were finger-man for
a bandit gang he would get nothing except clothes and ordinary, easily
replaced tools. And it was ridiculous to imagine the American as any
such thing. True, he was not an educated man, but that meant less than
nothing. Education, as such, has little to do with honesty. No, Nast was
just an American sailor who had decided to stay in the tropics, and
apparently was making a go of it in a business way.
"Let him ride," Rick thought. "It will be okay. He can't do any damage,
I guess...."