Flying Spears
"Just like the old saying," Rick observed. "Birds of a feather flock
together. A crooked Filipino, a crooked American, and a crazy Ifugao are
now in conference. And what is the conference about?"
"They talk about who wins next World Series," Chahda suggested brightly.
Scotty scoffed at the idea. "They aren't sports lovers, Chahda. They are
gentlemen of culture. I think the conference is about motion pictures.
My idea is that Lazada and Nast are visiting Nangolat in order to get an
Ifugao opinion on whether the hero should be allowed to kiss his horse
in western pictures."
Tony Briotti leaned on his shovel. "I can't see how you can be so wrong
when the evidence is so clear. Isn't Lazada the Assistant Secretary of
the Interior? Isn't this the Interior? I think the Ifugao terraces are
about to be converted to a national park, under the Department of the
Interior. The Assistant Secretary is here to discuss the hot-dog
concession with a local bigwig. Of course he has his American hot-dog
expert with him. It's as simple as that."
Scotty checked his rifle carefully, sighting down the barrel to make
sure it was mirror clean. "They could also be talking about building a
new swimming pool for Ifugao boys and girls, but somehow I doubt it.
What say we not worry about what they're saying to each other, and worry
instead about digging?"
"Right as usual," Tony said. "Let's keep at it, and perhaps we'll come
up with something worth talking about."
They had made a good start. Now, working two by two, they excavated
until the shovels rang from stone. Scraping disclosed a flat stone that
probably was a lid of some kind. They resumed digging until the stone
was completely exposed, then tried to lift it.
"Weighs a ton," Rick grunted. "Did it move at all?"
"Not that I could see," Tony said. "Let's dig down around the edges more
and see if the stone is anchored."
Further digging showed that the stone was not anchored. It probably had
been set in some kind of primitive mortar which would have to be broken
before the stone could be lifted. A crowbar from the truck supplied
leverage and in a moment the stone was free. Willing hands found holds,
lifted it free, and slid it to the back of the recess. Where the stone
had been there now yawned a circular opening about the size of a
manhole.
Tony Briotti was beside himself with excitement. He ran to the truck,
rummaged in the supplies, and produced a flashlight. Then he ran back to
the hole and directed the beam downward.
The boys crowded around to look. Rick exclaimed in disappointment. The
hole was about eight feet deep and about four feet in diameter. The
walls were coated with green slime and on the bottom there was a mixed
coating of mud and slime and nothing else.
"False alarm," he said sadly.
Tony paid no attention. He went to the truck again, and from his own
crate of supplies he produced rope and two galvanized steel buckets. He
also found boots and rubber gloves, a small hand shovel, and an ordinary
garden hand tool with three prongs. These tools he thrust into his belt.
"I'm going down," he announced.
Rick realized that Tony was not taking for granted the apparent
emptiness of the hole. He realized, too, that Tony knew much more about
such caches than he. "Okay," he said. "Angel, keep a watch. We don't
want to get caught by surprise while Tony is digging."
"I've been watching," Angel said. "And we're also being watched by
Ifugaos, on the terraces above the village."
Chahda looked into the hole doubtfully. "How you get in and out, Tony?
No ladder."
"The rope," Tony said. "You'll have to lower me, or hold the rope so I
can climb down."
"We'll lower you," Scotty said. He took the rope and made a loop for
Tony's foot, then directed the archaeologist to sit on the edge of the
hole. Tony did so, putting his foot through the loop. Then Rick, Scotty,
and Chahda payed out rope while the scientist let himself slide from the
edge into the hole. In a moment the rope went slack. He was on the
bottom.
Rick watched while Tony drove his hunting knife into the wall of the
hole and hung his flashlight on it, the beam shooting downward. Then
Tony took his shovel from his belt and probed the soft earth carefully.
It was so soft that his boots sank in up to the ankles.
Presently Tony called, "Something here. Get a bucket." He worked with
the shovel and unearthed a small, mud-covered object, then another, then
a whole series of them.
Scotty tied a bucket to the rope and lowered it. Tony put the muddy
collection in it and Scotty drew it up.
"Send the rope back for me," Tony called.
The three boys helped to pull him up. He immediately sat down on the
ground with the bucket between his legs and started to clean his
findings.
"Rick," he requested, "get me the bag of cloths and brushes from my
case, please?"
Rick did so. Tony removed most of the mud by wiping it off with his
gloves. Then brushes and cloths completed the job. He held up a human
jawbone, inlaid with gold. His eyes sparkled. "Typical, except for the
gold. The human jawbone is a common Ifugao relic. In fact, they suspend
their musical instruments from human jawbones." He put it down carefully
and started to work on the next object. It turned out to be a pipe,
again typical Ifugao work except for the fact that it was of gold.
Rick examined it. He had seen pipes something like it before, but made
of clay. "I thought tobacco was an American product," he observed. "How
come these primitive Asiatics had it?"
"Asia used tobacco long before the Indians introduced it to Europeans,"
Tony replied. "But it's curious that the pipe forms should be so
similar. That pipe was made by a process we now use in America for very
delicate castings. It is called the 'lost wax' process."
"Funny name," Chahda said, interested.
"Yes, until you know about the process. The Ifugao makes the pipe he
wants out of wax, then coats it with clay, leaving a hole in the clay.
Then he puts the clay in the fire. The clay hardens, but the wax melts
and runs out. The Ifugao, then, has a mold exactly like the pipe he made
of wax. He melts the metal he chooses--gold, in this case--and pours it
into the clay mold. When the metal cools, he breaks off the mold, and
there is his pipe."
"Lost wax," Scotty said. "You're right. It fits."
At that moment Angel Manotok came into the recess. "I've been listening.
Don't think I'm presuming, please, but could we work faster? Perhaps
talk about it later?"
Angel was right, of course. Tony said, "I shouldn't have taken the time
to clean those things. We'll collect them mud and all." He went back
into the hole and worked rapidly, filling the buckets as fast as the
boys could haul them up.
Rick thought that the crypt probably was dry when the objects were first
placed in it. But the water used to irrigate the rice terraces had
seeped through between the carefully selected stones that lined the pit,
bringing fine particles of dirt and gradually building up a reservoir of
mud in the bottom. Most of the water seeped in and seeped out again, but
the particles of soil remained.
Tony suddenly gave a cry. "I think I have it!" He braced an object on
his knee and wiped it. "It is! And by its weight, it's thick-walled but
hollow! What a find! Boys, this is wonderful! Tremendous!"
The scientist tried to place the muddy object in a bucket, but it was
too large to fit. He called, "Can one of you lean away in? I'll hold it
up as high as I can."
Tony's excavations had taken him down another two feet, but with Chahda
and Scotty holding onto his legs, Rick was able to reach in and take the
object from Tony's outstretched hands. It was bulky, slightly larger
than a human head, and it was heavy--as heavy as lead, or gold!
Scotty and Chahda pulled Rick out of the pit, then they lowered the rope
for Tony. In a moment he was working on the object, wiping and brushing.
There was a yellow gleam to it now, and the shape was becoming more and
more skull-like as the mud was removed. Tony worked rapidly, and in a
few moments he held it up for them to see. It was a skull, finely
executed of heavy sheet gold, and the workmanship bore the unmistakable
stamp of Alta Yuan.
"We've succeeded," Tony said, his voice hushed. "Beyond my wildest
expectations!"
And in that moment Dog Meat and Angel called simultaneously.
The Ifugao warriors were advancing across the field in ominous silence,
spears ready. Nast and Lazada were nowhere in sight, but at the head of
the warriors was Nangolat!
Hastily the golden artifacts were put out of sight in the recess and
Tony walked to meet the oncoming Ifugaos.
Scotty pulled the retractor of his rifle and a cartridge rammed into the
firing chamber. He held the rifle casually, but ready for instant
action.
Nangolat came closer, and his face was distorted with emotion. He held
the spear in his fist, ready for stabbing or throwing. When he spoke,
his voice, usually moderate, was nearly a scream.
"I almost believed you," he sobbed. "But now I know the truth! You are
here to desecrate our temples and to rob us of the precious relics of my
people."
Then the Ifugao saw that the dragon had been moved. He bared his teeth
with fury and his eyes were glazed, black with emotion. He was beyond
reason.
"Die!" he screamed. "Die!"
His hand flashed back for the throw. Scotty's rifle spoke sharply and
the heavy slug caught the blade of Nangolat's spear. The Ifugao was
whirled around bodily. He fell as the spear was wrenched from him and
hurled a dozen yards away.
It was the signal. The Ifugao warriors rushed, launching spears as they
came. Rick pulled Tony back to the shelter of the truck. Angel, Scotty,
and Chahda were calmly firing at the oncoming wave, shooting low with
deadly accuracy. From the terrace above, Balaban was firing down with
good effect, while Dog Meat whammed away with the shotgun.
Spears bounced off the truck, the jeep, and the dragon. Now and then one
hung quivering in the wall of the recess, but the Spindrift group had
good shielding and there were no casualties.
The attackers were wavering now. A priest with a knot of chicken
feathers in his hair leaped forward, holding a skull high. Rick guessed
it was an important symbol of some kind, because he saw the warriors
rally. He sighted in and his shot blasted the skull into fragments. The
wave broke and retreated.
Tony made a quick examination to be sure there were no casualties. Out
on the meadow several wounded Ifugaos, all of them with leg wounds, were
being helped to safety.
"We can thank Nast and Lazada for this," Tony said bitterly. "Do you
realize that we are in a very bad position?"
The Ifugao warriors were reforming. Nangolat, recovered from the numbing
shock of Scotty's shot, stormed among them, getting them ready for
another assault. But Nangolat was no longer waving a spear. He was now
armed with a rifle.