recognized his tribal war-cry.
"Piang! Piang!" he cried. The dark shape, clinging to the drifting
boom answered, and Kali rushed toward it. Before the enemy could
gather their scattered wits, the whole party was sweeping by, on
toward freedom. As Kali bore down on Piang, the boy raised himself
to meet the raft. It was coming at a terrific rate, and he feared it
would knock him off the boom; measuring the distance, he prepared to
leap. On came the raft, Kali leaning far over the side, arms extended
to grab the boy. When Kali was only a few yards off, Piang screamed:
"_Boia! boia!_" ("Crocodile! crocodile!") The men on the raft saw the
water stir and hurled spear and arrow, but they glanced off the scaly
hide. It was a race with death, and what a miserable death for Piang,
their idol! The boy grew cold and sick as he waited. Suddenly the raft
paused, held in check by Kali's pole. Piang almost fainted. What was
his chief doing? In a moment he realized that the quick action had
saved his life. The raft swerved, bumped against the crocodile, and
came between it and Piang. The next moment Piang was in Kali's arms.
In the light of the gray dawn, Sicto watched these two as they gazed
into each other's eyes; they swept triumphantly by, heedless of
flying arrows. The radiant fire-tree blooms still clustered around
Piang's head, and his sacred charm gleamed in the early light. Firmly
believing that spirits had aided Piang in his remarkable feat, Sicto
trembled with fear, and, with a last glance at the victorious charm
boy, he turned and fled into the jungle.
Wonderingly, Kali Pandapatan and his followers viewed the new cut-off
as they floated by. Amazed, they listened to the marvelous tale. Old
Dato Kali Pandapatan laid his hands once again on his favorite's head:
"Little brother," he said, "this shall be known as Piang's
Cut-off. Some day you will be the greatest dato in Mindanao."
FIFTH ADVENTURE
RIDING THE CATARACT
News that a strange craft had put into Cotabato reached Piang in his
mountain home. Hurriedly he gathered his few weapons together and
started down the trail. He passed many traders and venders, who had
also heard of the boat, and he hastened his steps in his desire to
be there early.
"_Un-di?_" ("Whither?") called Sicto as Piang trotted past him.
"To the barrio," replied Piang. Sicto hurried to keep up with him,
but Piang had no wish to be in company with the ne'er-do-well Moro
boy, and he did not try to conceal his feelings. The natural dignity
of the Oriental kept Sicto from displaying his anger at the repulse,
but he sullenly slackened his pace and registered a black mark against
this haughty Piang.
Piang loved to be alone; his playmates were too noisy, too talkative;
he, too, loved to chatter and play games at times, but now in the
jungle, as the morning light slowly broke through the damp foliage,
he wished to be alone and watch nature unfold to the coming day. It
seemed to him that the huge elephant ears lifted their dew-weighted
leaves and shook themselves in the gentle wind. The monkeys peeped out
at him and continued to make their toilet undisturbed. Other travelers
startled the little creatures into watchfulness, but Piang came upon
them so silently, so peacefully, that they scarcely noticed him.
There was one spot, half-way down the trail which he wanted to reach
alone; there the jungle seemed to part, as if to grant a glimpse of
the harbor below. He quickened his stride, and as he passed a party
of men one of them called to him, "You will be first to-day, little
fleet one." So there was none before him. He was glad, and when he
came within sight of the clearing, he rejoiced in his solitude. He
wondered if the boat was a vinta from Borneo, or if it was loaded
with copra for Japan. There now, when that mist lifted, he would know.
As the beautiful harbor broke upon his sight, Piang paused, holding
his breath, for out of the boat, the only one in view, smoke was
pouring. It was on fire! But why were the people not trying to save
the cargo? A huge black stick standing in the middle of the hull was
belching smoke. While he was regretting that he would be too late
to assist at the rescue, he was startled by a thin white stream
spurting out of the mast-head. Gradually he connected it with the
shrill whistle that pierced his ears.
Piang wanted to run back, to warn the others that some strange monster
had sailed into their midst; but he saw that his brothers in the barrio
were calmly watching the thing, and as it did not seem to hurt them,
he took courage and dashed on down the trail into the jungle. All the
rest of the journey he strained his ears to catch that shrill voice,
which he was now sure came from the boat. As he flew through the silent
forest he recalled the tales of the demons that the wise men talked
about, and he decided to approach the thing with caution. Finally he
stood on the shore, and there before his eyes was a boat that seemed
to be alive. It was breathing. But where were its sails? How did it
move? Clusters of natives, their fear stilled by curiosity, watched
the approach. Breathlessly they waited. It was coming toward the tiny
wharf, and just as it settled alongside, a piercing screech from it
sent them tumbling over each other in a mad attempt to get away. From
the safety of trees and huts they waited. Big men, pale and straight,
walked from the boat and beckoned them to descend. Cautiously the
more daring ones responded, and soon the whole population was gathered
around the visitors.
Curious to see what the strangers were showing the dato, Piang slipped
quietly up behind and caught sight of the most beautiful colored
cloth he had ever seen. "Bandana," the pale man called it. Piang
longed to possess it for his mother; how she would love to wear it
for her gala head-dress! The sailor then produced a tiny object that
glistened and sparkled in the sun; it was about as large as the palm
of Piang's hand and very thin. The Moros were very much excited over
it, and when Piang reached up on tip-toes to peer through the crowd,
he cried aloud, for there, staring back at him was a boy he had
seen somewhere. The little brown face and the piercing black eyes,
the long hair twisted in a knot with the ends flying loose, were all
strangely familiar. It was--Piang! "Mir-ro," he repeated after the
white man when his scattered wits permitted, and the crowd had ceased
its merriment at his expense. The Moros were more interested in the
knives, tobacco, and strange food that the strangers had brought than
in the red bandana handkerchief and the toy mirror; but Piang longed
to carry the two things that had caught his eye back to his mother,
and he was silently gazing at them when Sicto, attracted by Piang's
admiration, picked the mirror up to look at it.
Before Piang realized it, Sicto was negotiating with the owner,
offering in trade his brass buyo, or betel-box, used for containing a
preparation of the betel pepper, extensively chewed in the East. Why
had Piang not brought his brass? He would run and fetch it; but the man
would not wait. Just as he saw the things about to pass into the hands
of his rival, he remembered his ring. Attracting the attention of the
trader, he quickly unscrewed the tiny center and proudly displayed a
few glittering flakes; Piang did not know that they were gold dust;
but the trader whistled a low note of surprise and called one of
his shipmates aside. The Moro boy had seen the Japanese trade whole
shiploads of copra for the shiny stuff, so, when he had found some
in the sand one day, he had gathered it.
When the trader made it clear to Piang that he could have the
treasures for more of the flakes, he was delighted, and without a
moment's delay started off up the trail, not deigning to glance at
the disappointed Sicto.
Up, up, he climbed. Heat, thirst, nothing slackened his pace. Arriving
at his home, he flew to the lake, and, without a word to any one,
jumped into his banco and pushed out into the water. Sweat poured
down his face; mosquitos buzzed around his head: but he had no time
to build a smudge. He must hurry, or the strange boat would leave
the island and take forever the treasures Piang so coveted.
Soon he struck the current, and when he felt the boat settle into
it he dropped over the side, holding on to the outriggers, and let
the boat pull him through the cool water. He noticed another banco
in the distance and wondered what brought another person out on the
lake in the heat, but the mosquitos occupied all his attention, and
he dived and swam under the water to avoid them, soon forgetting the
other boatman.
Which stream had he paddled up before, when he had found the bright
sand? He examined the shore carefully as he climbed into the boat. It
must be there. Yes, he remembered the orchids in that tree. Cautiously
he guided the banco to the mouth of the creek, and he shuddered as he
caught sight of a shiny black object slipping into the water. It was
a harmless snake, but Piang did not like snakes and he hurried past
the spot. Gradually he lost sight of the lake and the sun; overhanging
vegetation and fallen trees engulfed him. At times he could not use
his paddle, and cautiously avoiding the thorns and poisoned things,
he pulled the boat along from above. Soon this little stream would
take him into the big river where he had found the pretty sand.
Piang was startled by a sound behind him. Surely he had heard a
paddle. But all was silence when he paused to listen. When he came
to the river he shouted with delight, for his journey was half over,
and there in the sun sparkled his treasure. Taking his gourd from
the boat, he filled it with sand and then started the long process
of washing it away. Always in the bottom would be left a few of
the bright grains. These he poured on a leaf, but he discovered in
dismay that they stuck there, and when he tried to brush them off,
they sank into the leaf.
While he was pondering on his predicament he heard the chatter of a
hablar-bird, and he chuckled to himself. He searched his banco for
his bow and arrows, but was astonished to find only the bow. What a
misfortune! He must have lost the arrows on the trail. Nothing daunted,
little Piang set about his task in another manner. Scattering a handful
of parched corn in a clearing, he laid the noose of his rope around
it, and taking the end of it in his hand, silently withdrew into the
thicket and waited.
Soon the big bird discovered the handy meal and, loudly proclaiming
its rights to possession, flapped its way to the earth and lighted
right in Piang's noose. The hablar-bird fluttered and chattered as it
settled to the task of filling its craw with the good food. Cautiously
Piang watched his chance and, with a deft twitch of the rope, secured
the noose around the bird's foot. Such screaming and flapping! "Now
you be good bird, and I no hurt you," Piang admonished. Catching hold
of the creature behind the head, Piang held it firmly and quickly
plucked three large feathers from its brilliant plumage. He then set
it free and laughed to see it searching for its lost glories.
Piang would have enjoyed watching it, as it scolded him from a high
limb, but he could not delay and he set about his task quickly. Cutting
off the end of each quill, he scraped it clean inside and washed the
pithy part out. He had seen his father prepare a quill in this way
for packing tobacco-powder.
When these receptacles were ready to receive the gold-dust, he
began washing the sand again; and when he had secured enough to
fill all three quills he stuck a piece of green banana on the ends
for a stopper. Now he would have the treasures for his mother--that
beautiful cloth and the funny, thin thing that played pranks on you
when you looked into it.
What was that sound? Surely some one was spying on him. In a
flash he remembered the banco on the lake, the other sounds he had
heard. Also he remembered that Sicto wanted the same treasures that
he coveted. He had been followed by the bully, and now, without his
bow and arrows, he was helpless. To gain the lake again, he must
pass through that treacherous creek, and he knew that Sicto would
think nothing of robbing him and hastening to the village to buy
the treasures with Piang's hard-earned bright sand. Somewhere those
wicked eyes were watching him from the foliage, but Piang bravely
covered his misgivings.
There were two trails to the village; one lay to the west through
the lake that he had crossed; the other was straight ahead, down the
river. But there were cataracts on this river, and Piang wondered if
he could make his way on foot from the head of the first one to the
right trail. He decided to take the risk and quickly headed his banco
in that direction. As he started down the river, he heard a howl of
rage, and glancing back, saw Sicto preparing to follow.
So! It was to be a race! Piang had foiled the bully, and his little
heart beat faster as he realized the consequences if Sicto should
catch him. Piang had a good start, but the river was so treacherous,
the eddies so powerful, that sometimes his boat seemed to stand still
or almost turn around when it was caught by the counter-current. How
he loved his slim little craft! Whenever possible, it obeyed his wish,
and he chuckled to see Sicto struggling with his heavy boat. If he
could only reach the first head-water and land on the opposite shore,
he would not fear defeat. For who was more fleet-footed than Piang,
who more able to ferret his way through the almost impenetrable jungle?
Cautiously he watched the shore; he had been this way only once before,
and wondered if he could remember where the trail began at the water's
edge. The current was so swift here that it was hardly necessary to
paddle at all; so he rested to examine the shore.
But what was the matter with Sicto? Why had he stopped paddling? In a
flash it came over Piang that the cataract was near, and he started to
back water with all his might. To his horror he found that he could not
control the boat; fight as he would, it paid no heed to his struggle,
but dashed on toward the waterfall. At first Piang thought he would
swim, but realized that he would be swept over just the same. There
was only one thing to be done--he must ride the cataract. Sicto was
left far behind, clinging to the bank, watching with a sneer the boy
going as he thought, to his death. He wondered why Piang was standing
up in the banco; surely it would be best to lie flat in the boat and
cling to the bottom.
Gracefully Piang poised his body for the dive. The feathers were safely
thrust into his long hair, and his bolo secured in his belt. With hands
outstretched above his head, he waited for the great moment. He knew
that if he was skilful he could clear the dangerous waters below the
falls and either swim to the shore or reach his banco. Faster, faster
went the boat, and his little heart thumped so that he feared it would
burst. He tried to remember that this was not such a dangerous feat;
others had accomplished it, and he could, if he was careful. The drop
was only a few yards, but the danger lay in the shoals at the foot of
the falls. What a beautiful sight Piang was, poised on the brink of
that foaming cataract, the black jungle for a background! As he felt
the banco quiver and twist he prepared for the dive. Finally the boat
reached the crest and, with a lurch, shot from under the boy as he
sprang far out into space. It seemed an eternity to Piang before he
plunged into the waters below; then he sank down, down. The roaring
and thundering deafened him, and he wondered if he should ever stop
tumbling over in the water. It tossed him, tore from his hands any
support he was able to grasp, and finally, after almost depriving
him of breath, left him floating on the surface of a calm pool. How
delicious the rest seemed! How tired he was! As he lay there on his
back, he watched the water pour over the rocks above his head, and
marveled that he had accomplished it all so easily.
Gradually Piang regained his composure, and his first thought was for
the quills. Yes, they were still safe, and he must hurry. Not fearing
Sicto's interference any more, he began to wonder how he should
find the trail. Searching the river for his banco, he discovered
it caught by some reeds near the shore. It was easy to swim on that
side of the river; so he slowly made his way to the overturned canoe,
deftly righting it, and in a moment was over the side, searching for
the extra paddle he always kept tied in the bottom. Fortunately it
had not been torn away, and avoiding the rapids, he hugged the shore
and finally resumed his journey down the river.
What a wonderful experience Piang had had! How he would boast of his
bravery, Moro fashion, and maybe the wise men would praise him. As
he paddled down the river he kept his eyes open for trails; and when
he heard the next cataract thundering its menace in the distance, he
decided to land and search the jungle for a path. Beaching his banco,
he hid it in the undergrowth, and, carefully avoiding the stinging
vines, crept into the shadow of the jungle.
The great silence was everywhere, and Piang wondered if he could
trust his instinct to lead him aright. The heavy vines obstructed his
passage, and he was forced to cut and hew his way through the edge of
the forest. Nature does her best to protect the jungle, for always, on
the edges, bamboo, and _bajuca_ (pronounced bah-hoo-kah) vie with each
other in forming an impenetrable wall; but after the first few yards
the obstinacy of the vines seems to relax, their sentinel duty over.
Luckily for Piang, the jungle was well supplied with paths here, and
he soon found the one leading down to the barrio. His heart was light,
now, and he threw back his head and shouted with glee as he remembered
Sicto, pale with terror, lest he too be swept over the cataract. Very
quickly his exultation subsided, however, when he realized that Sicto
could easily be on this same trail, and he redoubled his efforts as
he imagined he heard twigs snapping behind him. What if the boat had
already gone. What if its coveted treasures were lost forever?
From his customary trot Piang broke into a run, and, panting and
sweating, pushed forward. Soon the trail joined the one he had
taken that morning, and in a moment he would come to the clearing
where he had first seen the strange boat. Yes, there it was;
ugly, cross-looking, without one of those bright-patched sails that
decorated all the boats Piang had ever seen. But--was it moving? With
a cry, Piang started forward as the white smoke appeared, and the
shriek echoed and reechoed through the jungle. Fury, resentment, and
determination flashed across his face; with a howl he darted down the
trail. There was only a little way to go now, and he would run like the
wind. Friends and strangers tried to speak to him as he approached them
on the trail, but he brushed them aside impatiently and rushed onward.
With his last bit of breath he stumbled through the barrio, but the
boat was steadily moving out to sea. He threw himself on his face and
beat the wharf with his clenched fists. All was lost--the beautiful
"ban-da-na" for his mother, the "mir-ro," too! An exclamation from
one of the men arrested his attention, and he sprang to his feet in
an instant. The boat had stopped; and--could he believe his eyes?--the
man with the treasures was getting into a small skiff and was beckoning
to Piang!
Quickly the boy responded. Making sure that the precious quills were
safe, he dived into the sea and struck out toward the approaching
boat. When they pulled him over the side, a cheer went up from
the Moros on the bank and was answered by another from the strange
boat. Eagerly Piang searched the boat for the two objects so dear to
his heart, but the trader silently tapped the ring and waited. Slyly
the boy considered. Finally he drew forth one quill and offered
it to the man. He handed Piang the red calico handkerchief, saying
"ban-da-na." Eagerly the boy grabbed it. Guardedly the two contemplated
each other. The trader reached into his pocket and produced the
toy mirror, surrounded by colored pins; Piang offered to trade for
another quill, but the man shook his head. Piang resolutely shook
his, and the owner intimated that the trade was over by slipping
the mirror back into his pocket. Piang could not stand the suspense,
despite his passion for making a good trade, so he thrust the other
quill into the stranger's hand, grasped the treasure, and, saluting
them in his dignified fashion, slipped over the side and was off.
When Sicto slunk into the hill barrio that night he was anxious to
avoid Piang, but our hero was not concerned about him at all. Around
the great fire in the center of the village were seated all the
important members of the tribe, and Sicto's envy was complete when he
saw that Piang's mother was the object of adoration. There she sat,
the coveted "ban-da-na" crowning her stately head, and around her neck
was suspended the funny thing that laughed back at you. Silently she
offered each member of the circle one of the colored pins, and when
all were supplied, they fell to the task of picking their teeth,
at intervals reverently examining the instrument. When the allotted
period had elapsed, Piang's mother again extended the mirror, and
when each one had gazed into the depth, the pin was replaced, later
to be handed on to a new comer.
Sicto had joined the less fortunate persons who were watching the
ceremony from a distance. Only the elect were permitted to approach
the circle. From his place of honor Piang glanced loftily in their
direction, and as his eyes met Sicto's, his triumph was complete. Under
Piang's steady gaze, the bully quailed and, dropping his eyes,
shambled off into the darkness.
SIXTH ADVENTURE
THE JUNGLE MENACE
Dato Kali Pandapatan had declared a three days' holiday in honor of
Piang's safe return from his long journey to the haunt of Ganassi,
the wonder man. That one so young had accomplished the difficult task
proved to the tribe conclusively that Piang was indeed the chosen of
Allah, the charm boy by divine right. Kali was glad of the opportunity
to plunge his people into gaieties, for a mysterious shadow had hovered
over the barrio for a week, and he hoped to dispel the effects of a
recent disaster by merriment and fiesta. In the night an infant had
disappeared from its hammock under the mango-tree and no trace of it
had ever been found. The mother, who had been sleeping on the ground
near her babe, told a strange story of being awakened by a suffocating
pressure on her chest; as she stretched out her hand in the dark,
she encountered a cold, clammy mass that moved under her touch. She
must have fainted, for when she was able to scream for assistance,
her baby was gone, and there were no tracks in the sand. The river
was searched, but the crocodile pickets were intact; no monster from
the river had broken through the barriers.
The ominous whisper, "Bal-Bal," passed from lip to lip. Only that
supernatural jinn could have whisked the infant from their midst;
only Bal-Bal, with his demon body, sailing through the air on
enormous wings, could have descended upon them so silently, so
stealthily. Fearfully the wise men kept watch for the return of
Bal-Bal, whose fateful visits were believed to come in pairs.
At first the news of the fiesta failed to rouse the people from the
lethargy into which they had sunk, but gradually their pleasure-loving
natures responded, and preparations were begun for the three days'
play.
"Goody-goody!" exclaimed Papita, the little slave girl, dancing about,
clapping her hands. "We are to have the macasla fiesta, Piang. Just
think, we are to go to the ocean to-morrow!" Piang's newly acquired
dignity would not permit him to respond to Papita's levity, but he
secretly rejoiced, too, over the prospects of fun and excitement at
the macasla.