laugh. "He's not likely to need _dinero_ (a silver coin) soon." Piang
wondered again at the pitying looks that were cast at him, but he only
held his head higher and climbed into the boat. The men seemed in a
great hurry; they landed far up the beach, and bags and provisions
were hastily dumped on the sand.
"Here you are, young 'un," said a sailor, and Piang looked up eagerly.
"Me, here?"
"Yep, this is your place," replied the man, looking away quickly from
the soft brown eyes.
Obediently the jungle boy jumped out, awaiting instructions. The
sailor in charge pointed to the paper in Piang's hand and waved toward
the barrio.
"For dato?" Piang asked, with a puzzled look.
"Sure, the dato," replied the man evasively, and Piang turned and
started off through the jungle, following a well defined path.
"Plucky kid, that," said the sailor who pushed off. "Wonder if he
knows what's up? Half the time they don't tell the poor devils. Row
over toward the patrol-boat, and I'll warn them to watch carefully
to-night in case he tries to escape. When they first land here they
kick up a terrible row and usually try to make a get-away or commit
their particular brand of hari-kari [suicide]."
Piang was in a great hurry. There was no time to be lost and whatever
the business in hand might be, it must be finished quickly. He wondered
why some of the sailors had not come with him. Americans are always
so curious and never lose an opportunity to visit a strange barrio. He
ran on swiftly.
Two sounds broke simultaneously on his ears. What was there in them
to strike a chill to his heart, to fill him with forebodings? That
shrill whistle! It was surely the _Sabah's_, and as Piang came to
a small clearing, he caught a glimpse of the harbor. A cry broke
from him. The _Sabah_ was sailing away. Before he could fully
realize the calamity, that other sound, ominous and terrible, came
again from the barrio. A low rumbling, punctuated with shrieks and
screams, came nearer, nearer. Suddenly from out the dense undergrowth
protruded a face, shoulders, and finally a woman, old and bent, crept
through. Spell-bound, Piang watched her. Wisps of unkempt gray hair
straggled around her head; filthy rags hung from her lean, stooping
shoulders; sunken eyes, sly and vicious, glared at Piang. Tremblingly
the boy watched her creep toward him. There was something about the old
hag that turned his blood cold. The distant rumble became individual
howls, and Piang suddenly realized that he was being hunted. But why,
and by whom? The innocent paper in his hand crackled. The old hag
was very near, was about to touch him. With a shriek, Piang jumped
back. Her hands were festered; her face and neck were covered with
white splotches.
"A leper!" cried the boy and suddenly he realized that he had been
trapped by that villain, Sicto. Not Sicto, but Alverez had filched
the order for the confinement of a leper, had erased the name, and
substituted Piang's. He flung the damning paper from him.
As the boy darted off through the jungle, the old woman yelled. The
cry brought the others, and when Piang caught sight of them, he
almost lost hope. Would he be able to escape the contamination
of this island? With mad shrieks, the lepers gave chase, eager to
lay hands on one so lately relegated to their colony. Was he not a
leper too? What right had he to scorn them, his brothers? Hotter,
fiercer grew the chase. The island was so small that it afforded
little refuge for the hunted boy. Sounds from all sides indicated
that the chase was almost over; it was only a matter of minutes now,
and never again could he leave the dread colony.
A rustle at his feet startled him, and some animal scurried off
into the bush. A dark hole from which it had evidently crawled
attracted Piang's attention, and without an instant's hesitation,
he flung himself on the ground and wormed his body into the welcoming
shelter. Pulling a fallen branch in front of the opening, he shrank
farther back into the cave. Cave? No, he had taken refuge in a fallen
tree trunk, hollowed out by the persistent ferreting of termites
(ants).
"He was here, here," screamed the old woman. The pursuers flocked to
the spot, and Piang listened as they beat the bush, clamoring for their
victim. They were so infuriated at the new arrival's unsociability
that they would probably kill him if they found him.
Piang crouched back in his cramped quarters. The tiny white ants
announced their disapproval of the intrusion by vicious stings, but
Piang did not move. A sudden jolt made his heart beat wildly. Some
one had jumped on the other end of the log, and the rotting wood had
caved in. He expected each moment to be his last. Over his head the
pattering of bare feet, running along the trunk, sounded like thunder.
When the lepers moved off into the jungle, Piang was not deceived. They
would lie in wait, and their revenge would be the more terrible for
the delay. Sweat poured down Piang's face; his body ached where the
ants had stung him. He tried to plan some means of escape, but none
came to his tired brain.
"There is no God but Allah," whispered the charm boy, and a peace
seemed to fall upon him.
Many weary hours went by before a squawk penetrated the death-like
stillness. Fruit-bats! It must be night. Very slowly he made his
way toward the opening. Unfortunately for Piang the full moon was
rising, making the soft, tropical night a wonder of beauty and
loveliness. Cautiously he thrust his head through the branches that
shielded his retreat. He was very near the ocean; the other end of the
fallen tree, in which he had found refuge, was lying in the water, and
the rising tide was gradually creeping up over it. The gentle swish
of the sea comforted Piang. It was his friend, the only friend that
could help him escape from this island of decay. His practised eyes
discerned the shadowy forms of watchers squatting along the beach;
beyond, the patrol-boat moved about restlessly, and in the distance
twinkled the lights of Zamboanga.
"If I could only get past the lepers and the boat, I could swim back,"
thought Piang, and he looked with longing at the oily smoothness of
the water. Nothing could slip past the boat on that sea of glass in
the bright moonlight. He remembered the schools of sharks he had seen
in the _Sabah's_ wake and shuddered; but even that was better than
being doomed to die here. He pillowed his head on his arms and leaned
against the trunk; his hand closed over a piece of dry bamboo. Lifting
it to his eye, he idly squinted through it; it was smooth and clean.
Piang fell to soliloquizing. How many times, surrounded by his
friends, he had swum in the moonlight. He remembered one night in
particular. How they had sported with bamboo sticks, blowing the
spray high in the air, laughing as it fell upon each other! Piang
could swim miles with arms folded, pushing through the water like a
fish, rolling over on his back or sides, when tired. He had fooled
the tribe by staying under water for three minutes, breathing easily
through his hollow, bamboo tube. Kali had given him a prize.
Piang's eyes widened, brightened. With the bamboo stick--could he? He
blew through it softly and laughed. But how to get into the water
without being detected? The approaching tide, lapping the other end
of the fallen log, seemed to be caressing it in pity. Piang examined
it closely. Dared he crawl along the trunk? His eyes fell upon the
hole just above the water where one of his pursuers had broken through.
"Allah, I thank Thee," breathed the excited boy. He had found his
chance, had discovered a possible means of escape.
Crawling back into the log, he tested the heart of the tree and to
his joy, it crumbled under his touch. With a smothered cry, he began
to cut his way through the pithy, dust-like wood, and as he gradually
worked quantities of the soft fiber loose, he tossed it behind him. If
he could work his way through the rotted trunk before the tide turned,
it would be an easy matter to slip through the hole into the water.
It was suffocating in the damp inclosure, as the discarded pith
began to fill the opening. Tiny apertures let in just enough air,
but Piang was panting and dripping with sweat. As he struggled on
toward the hole, he could feel the water under him, as it swayed the
log gently. Only a little further!
The moonlight bathed Piang in its soft light; a cool breeze blew
across his face. One of the watching lepers stood up suddenly.
"There are many crocodiles to-night," he finally said, pointing toward
the log where a slight ripple, widening into vanishing rings, closed
over a dark form.
"That's a queer kind of fish!"
The sailors on the patrol-boat crowded around the speaker, glad of
any excitement to break the monotony of their vigil. A thin stream of
water had spurted up, disturbing the perfect calm of the surface, and
a small black object could plainly be seen, hurrying through the water.
"Now what the deuce?" said the captain. Two bells were loudly sounded,
and the boat bounded forward.
"Look out, don't run it down. Steer to one side."
The search-light, turned full upon the strange object, revealed to
the puzzled sailors a slim bamboo tube, sticking upright, propelled
by a strong force from below.
"Now, why don't that stick float, instead of sailing along like a
periscope?" pondered the captain.
As suddenly as the phenomenon had appeared, it sank from sight and
the chase ended abruptly.
"Look at our visitors," said a sailor, pointing over the side. Long
streaks of phosphorescence darted back and forth in the shadow of
the boat.
"That's a pretty bunch of shovel-nosed man-eaters, for you," remarked
the mate. "Gosh, wouldn't you hate to give the hungry devils a chance
at you, though?"
The baile was in full swing. The bichara was proving a great
success. Governor Findy graciously accepted the savages' allegiance
to the new government and their promises to make the trading system
a success. The small park in the center of the garrison was teeming
with life. On one side the American band gave the first notes of
civilized music that the Moros had ever heard; opposite, rows of brass
tom-toms responded mournfully. Gaudy lanterns festooned the tall trees
and swung between, describing graceful curves. Flickering moonlight
and fireflies added their bit. At one end of the park a platform had
been erected for the officers and their families. The savages crowded
around as the Americans swayed to the waltz, and their surprise was
no less than that of the Americans, when the tom-toms stirred the
Moros to the dance and they whirled and crouched in native fashion.
Governor Findy was surrounded by his personal guard; burly Irishmen
shared this honor with stalwart Moros, thus proving the governor's
trust in the wild people.
Dato Mandi, Dato Kali Pandapatan, and Governor Findy were conversing
on the steps of the dancing platform.
"Kali says that Piang mysteriously disappeared about noon to-day,"
explained Mandi in excellent English.
"Who is this Piang, Mandi?" asked the governor.
"Piang is the idol of the Buldoon tribe. He is Kali Pandapatan's
famous charm boy, friend of General Beech and Lieutenant Lewis,"
replied Mandi.
"Strange that one so well known should disappear. Yes, I have heard
much of this boy's loyalty and sagacity." The two Moros turned quickly,
warned by a startled look on the governor's face. Far down the smooth
shell road a figure was staggering, wavering toward them.
"Trouble, trouble," muttered Findy.
The music ceased with a discordant jar, there was a slight stir among
the spectators as Sicto and his companions attempted to retire, but to
their surprise, Kali's faithful men closed about them significantly. On
came the figure, lithe, slim, and brown.
"Piang!" cried Kali Pandapatan, and instantly his eyes sought out
the cowering Sicto.
The heavy, labored breathing became audible as the exhausted boy
stumbled through the crowd. A sentry started forward to seize him,
but the governor waved him aside. Dripping and panting, Piang staggered
toward his chief.
"Juramentado--gobernador!" faintly whispered Piang.
A wild shriek crashed through the intense stillness; a green sarong
was torn off, and the white-clad figure of a juramentado rushed at the
governor. But Kali Pandapatan was quicker, and just as the assassin
raised his barong, a slender kriss glistened in the moonlight and
descended. The juramentado lay bathed in his own blood.
Jumping up to the platform, Kali Pandapatan raised his hands.
"My brother chiefs," he cried, "did any of you know of this foul plot?"
"No, no!" came the quick response from every Moro, and although the
Americans could not understand his words, they began to realize that
Kali was exhorting his people to disclaim knowledge of the outrage.
"Viviz Gobernador!" came from the full, savage throats, and the cry
was taken up by the multitude.
The dazed governor looked down at the prostrate figure at his feet,
looked long, and sorrowed.
"But for the brave Piang I should have been lying there," he murmured.
Piang supported by Kali watched this new chief.
"Come here, Piang," said the governor. Fumbling with the collar of
his white uniform, he loosened something.
"My lad, I thank you for your bravery," he said, his voice shaking
slightly. "For your timely arrival, and your courage. Your name shall
be sent to the great chief at Washington."
The words were repeated to the jungle boy, and his manly little chest
swelled with pride.
"Piang, I am about to decorate you with the emblem of our government;
these infantry cross-guns I shall pin on your breast." The dignified
governor reached forward to make good his words, but he paused
in embarrassment, the noble speech dying on his lips. He gazed in
dismay at the naked little savage, standing straight and expectantly
before him.
"I shall _place_ this emblem." The officer began again. There was a
titter among the spectators.
Piang, eagerly eyeing the treasure, wondered why the governor
delayed. Suddenly a gleam of understanding broke over him, and he
grinned, broadly. With the tip of his finger he touched the shining
cross-guns, then his necklace of crocodile teeth. The situation
was saved.
Amid thunderous applause the smiling governor fastened the guns to
the indicated article of dress, and loud and clear rose the shout:
"Piang! Piang!"
TENTH ADVENTURE
PIANG'S TRIUMPH
Two years had passed since the bichara. Prosperity and honor had come
to Dato Kali Pandapatan and his people under the rule of General Beech
and Governor Findy, and Piang had been raised to the post of official
interpreter. Sicto, the disturber, had been seized in Zamboanga
on the charge of complicity in the plot on Governor Findy's life;
he had attempted to escape, and there were varying reports as to the
results. Some said that he had been killed by a crocodile, others that
he had escaped and swum to Basilan; but the tribe had not heard of him
since the bichara, and they were relieved to be rid of his bullying
presence. Especially the little slave girl, Papita, whom Sicto had
annoyed since infancy, was glad that he was gone. Sicto's father had
captured the little maid in a raid on the Bogobo country, and the
boy seemed to think it his special privilege to abuse and torment her.
Along the steep mountain trail, dividing the jungle as a river might,
crept a slow procession. A lumbering carabao swayed lazily forward,
and on each side walked four stalwart Moros, ever heedful of the
dignified figure astride the beast. Dato Kali Pandapatan rode in
silence. Occasionally he gazed down into the deep valleys or off in
the direction of Ganassi Peak, but the sorrowful, patient expression
never left his face.
Where was Piang? For three days the boy had been missing, and Kali
guessed only too easily what had taken him away in such haste. A
few days before little Papita had mysteriously disappeared. It was
whispered that the notorious Dato Ynoch (Ee-nock) had kidnapped her,
and Kali was already preparing an expedition against the marauder. He
felt the strain of civilization for the first time, for he had given
his word never to assemble his warriors without the permission of
the white chiefs at Zamboanga. But Piang, the impatient, the valiant,
could not brook the delay, and had in all probability started after
his little friend alone. Kali's messengers should return to-day,
and he had ridden far out to watch for their coming.
The procession reached the clearing that gave a full view of the
sea. In the distance the eye could discern the curving coast of tiny
Bongao; Kali was impervious to the summer beauty and youth of the
sparkling ocean, to the charm of the dainty island so gaily chatting
with the garrulous waves. He did not see the graceful, white rice-birds
or the regal aigrets flitting about among the trees; he saw only the
vast, restless ocean. There were no boats in sight.
Slowly the willing carabao was turned homeward, and the aged monarch
sorrowfully gave up hope of sending succor to Piang that night. The
recent storm had probably delayed his envoys, and he must wait the
_Sabah's_ monthly visit, which would come the next day.
At the door of his hut Kali Pandapatan was helped from the royal
beast's back and up the steep ladder entrance into the cool dusk of
the interior where industrious women squatted at their several tasks.
"I miss the child's lively chatter," Aioi was saying sadly.
"She was a trying pupil, I can tell you," remarked the woman at the
loom, "but a winning child." She leaned closer to Aioi and whispered:
"Did you know that Papita had been asked in marriage?" The surprised
look on Aioi's face made an answer unnecessary.
"Our chief is said to have spurned the offer. You know he has always
hoped to prove Papita's noble birth; he wanted Piang to have her,
so when the terrible Dato Ynoch's offer came--"
"Who speaks the name of our enemy in my house?" thundered Kali,
glowering at the chattering women. "Bend to your tasks and have done
with idle gossip."
What difference did it make to Piang if he was alone, if he had only
the barest clue to Papita's whereabouts? He was going to follow up
that clue, and something seemed to tell him that he was on the right
track. The jungle was dripping and steaming after a three days'
downpour; monkeys and birds were huddled in the trees, melancholy,
but patient, knowing that their friend, the burning tropic sun, would
come to them again, some day. Piang trudged on through the sticky,
slippery jungle. An occasional fresh track or recent camping site
made him push forward eagerly. What he should do when he did overtake
the kidnappers, he had no idea, but something always happened to help
Piang. He reverently touched his sacred charm.
The deluge through this lower jungle must have been terrific. Piang was
glad that he had been in his mountain barrio during the tempest. Strewn
everywhere were branches and enormous tree-ferns; a dead hablar-bird
lay in his path. Leeches, hiding on the backs of leaves and twigs,
caught at Piang as he brushed by, clinging and sucking their fill,
before he could discover them. He raised one foot quickly and yelled:
"_Tinick!_" ("Thorn!") While he was searching for the thorn his
other foot began to ache and pain. Piang was too wise to hesitate
a moment, so he swung up to a low branch and sat there nursing his
feet. He was puzzled; there was no thorns in them, and he could find
no cuts. Gradually the soles of the feet began to swell and take on a
purplish hue. Piang gave a low whistle and bent to examine the ground.
"_Badjanji!_" ("Bees!") he exclaimed. The ground was yellow with
the little bedraggled, stupified creatures. They had been beaten
down by the storm and would remain there until the sun came to coax
them into industry again. Swinging lightly from one tree to another,
Piang reached one of the numberless brooks that ramble aimlessly
about through the jungle, and, dropping to its banks, buried his
feet in the healing clay. After a short time the pain grew better,
and he continued his journey.
He was nearing Dato Ynoch's domain on the banks of Lake
Liguasan. The outlaw had chosen his lair well, for it was one of
the most inaccessible spots in Mindanao. On all sides treacherous
marsh lands reached out from the lake, and it was almost impossible
to tell when one might step from the solid jungle into a dangerous
morass. A few hidden trails led to the barrio, and by great good luck
Piang discovered one. Quietly he crept along into the ever-increasing
twilight, for the trail led deep into the jungle's very heart where
daylight and sunshine never penetrate. Sounds came faintly from the
barrio; tom-toms and many drums beat a monotonous serenade. A fiesta
must be in progress. A fiesta? Piang's face grew hot, and his black
eyes flamed. Could it be that the fiesta was poor Papita's wedding? He
broke into a run and, panting and sweating, pushed farther into the
darkening jungle; but the trail was evidently an abandoned one, for
it brought up suddenly against a wall of thorns and closely woven
vines. Throwing himself on the ground, Piang wriggled through the
offensive marsh weeds, and finally found himself almost on the edge
of Lake Liguasan. From his retreat he could plainly see the village
streets. The barrio was certainly preparing for a fiesta and no
ordinary one, either, for elaborate and barbaric decorations shrouded
huts and street. Raised on two posts at the entrance of the village,
was a carcass of a mammoth crocodile, in its opened jaws a human
skull. Piang shuddered. He had heard that Dato Ynoch's followers were
gathered from among the renegade Dyak pirate head-hunters, who fled
to Mindanao from Borneo justice. The human skull confirmed the rumor,
for there are no cannibal tribes among the Moros.
It was certainly a marriage feast that the women were preparing. A
raised platform in the middle of the campong (common), tastefully
decorated with skulls small, skulls large, and skulls medium,
formed the altar, and a large black bullock was already tied to the
_sapoendoes_ (sacrifice post). Piang flushed with excitement at an
unusually loud beating of tom-toms; the chief was coming. Piang had
long wished to see this terrible Ynoch. Weird stories of his terrible
personality, his disfigured countenance were widespread. That so
powerful a dato could have sprung up so suddenly puzzled the Moros,
and Ynoch's identity still remained a mystery.
Down the center of the street advanced a gaudy procession headed
by a barbaric priestess. From her head protruded massive horns
decorated with flaming red flowers. Around her loins was strapped a
crimson sarong; her body swayed and twisted to the savage rhythm of
the tom-toms. A tall, amazingly fat man stepped to the platform. His
back seemed oddly familiar to Piang, as well as the slinking gait, the
shambling step. Straining his eyes, Piang waited. Dato Ynoch raised
his hand for silence and turned toward the waiting populace. Piang
nearly cried out as he caught sight of the face.
Oily of hair, oily of eye was this Dato out-law. His shifting glance
wandered restlessly over the heads of the people, meeting no man's
eye. Beneath the pomp of his trappings, the fat, overfed body protruded
grotesquely, and his movements were slow and clumsy. One almond-shaped
eye had been partly torn from its socket, leaving a hideous, red
scar. An ear, which appeared to have slipped from the side of the
oily head and lodged on a fold of the fat neck, had in reality been
neatly carved from its proper place by an enraged slave and poorly
replaced by a crude surgeon. A bamboo tube had been inserted in the
original ear-drum.
"Sicto!" gasped Piang. The mysterious Dato Ynoch, was Sicto, the
mestizo.
That Papita had been dragged to the barrio, Piang now had no doubt,
and his nimble wits began to look about for a way of escape. He was
near the banks of a creek that led to the Cotabato River and thinking
that the most likely escape, he wormed his way toward it. Along the
bank were canoes of every description. The swift ones seemed to be all
four-oared, and he knew that he must have a fleet, light vinta to elude
the Dyaks. He spied a tiny white boat tied to a gilded post, and his
heart nearly stopped beating when he read the name "Papita" on the bow.