Part 11

After long deliberation, the sultan apparently reached his conclusion. He whispered an order, and several runners disappeared into the jungle. Lewis heard the sergeant catch his breath, but the old man preserved his dignity admirably. More silent waiting and smoking followed. The sultan growled his displeasure as an adviser attempted to give some piece of advice, displaying a far from lovely temper. Piang valiantly stood his ground, ready to fight and die by his friend.

Finally sounds of the returning slaves reached the gathering. What was coming? Armed savages? Or had he ordered his poison reptiles to be let loose among the soldiers? The stillness was oppressive. No one moved, and the sultan continued to study the averted face of the officer.

A sound floated to them, nearer, nearer. The men braced themselves for a fight. But the sound? It was one they had all heard, a familiar, homelike sound.

"Gobble-gobble!" It was answered from all directions. Gradually the truth dawned on Lewis. He had won, and the warm blood rushed through his tired limbs.

"Turkeys, by gosh!" shouted a recruit, and the cry was taken up by the whole command, for slaves were pouring in with fowls of every description. The sergeant vainly tried to establish order in the ranks, but the reaction was too great. All the good humor and excitement of the morning was restored, and the innate childishness of the soldier began to assert itself.

"Here, Jake, hang this fellow up on that tree so he can salute his majesty in true turkey fashion," shouted one man, and Jake, game as usual, tossed a big gobbler up in one of the mock Christmas-trees. From this point of vantage the bird made the jungle resound with its protests, while the troop screamed with laughter as Jake undertook to interpret the creature's address.

"Piang, what will we say to the old codger now?" asked Lewis.

"I ask for gift for Sabah; it keep her good," grinned the boy, and when he delivered that message to his majesty, a smile nearly destroyed the immobility of his features. A slave handed Lewis a package done up in green leaves, and when he curiously loosened the wrappings, a handful of seed-pearls, beautiful in luster and coloring fell in his palm.

"Thank him for the Sabah, Piang. I guess this will ease her restless spirit, all right. Tell him it will also serve as a balm for the wounds of the men who were attacked by the juramentados."

Regally the old potentate rose to take leave. Lewis wanted to slap him on the back in that "bully-for-you-old-top" manner, but the farce must be completed. When the sultan paused opposite Lewis, measuring him with those cruel, steely eyes, Lewis's only indiscretion was a wavering of the eyelid, just one little waver, but it was very much like a wink. There was undoubtedly a response in the other's eyes, but that is between the sultan and Lewis.

As solemnly as they had come, the procession disappeared into the jungle. The giant trees, smothered by vines and noxious growths, swallowed the brilliant throng and seemed to symbolize the union of the savage and the jungle. The sergeant's great, brawny hand was extended and grasped by Lewis in appreciation of what they had been through together.

Excitement reigned everywhere. The bedlam of fowls about to be decapitated and the shrieks of the troopers vied with each other for supremacy. Piang was being lionized by the men, toasted and praised in high fashion.

When Lewis inspected the Christmas dinner, the old Irishman winked a solemn wink, as he reminded the lieutenant of the discarded menu.

"You knew it all the time, sor; why didn't you put me on?" With a noncommittal smile, Lewis proceeded on his usual inspection tour. After he had returned to his tent and was settling himself to enjoy the hard-earned meal, he was startled by an unusually loud outburst among the men. It gradually dawned upon him what it was. "Three cheers for the lieutenant! Three cheers for Piang!" was the cry that was disturbing the jungle twilight.

NINTH ADVENTURE

THE BICHARA

Piang was about to land for the first time at Zamboanga. His tribe had looked with distrust upon the overtures made by Governor Findy, and although they obeyed his command to appear at the bichara, they were prepared to fight if necessary. Pagans, Mohammedans, Catholics, and Protestants were ordered to assemble at Zamboanga to establish peaceful trading relations, a thing that had never been dreamed of in the belligerent Sulu Isles, and Americans as well as natives were fearful of the outcome. The governor was severely criticized for his experiment, but he had made a deep study of the Moros, and was willing to run the risks of the present in his desire to bring the light of freedom and peace to the misguided savages. After centuries of oppression and outrages against them, the Moros had of necessity become suspicious and cautious. Preyed upon by Jesuits, Filipinos, and Spaniards, they had long ago found a ready bolo the safest argument. Governor Findy had sent them word that they were to be protected from their enemies, and that Americans were their friends, but disturbing whispers of traps and bondage made the wild folk hesitate to obey the summons.

Thus, a strange scene was being enacted at the Zamboanga wharf. From all directions weird crafts made their way hesitatingly toward it. The sentries were distrustfully scrutinized, but not a soldier was armed.

"See, Kali Pandapatan, I told you the new governor was good. He trusts us and permits us to enter his barrio as friends." Proudly the tribe's charm boy sprang from the war-prau, and, to the astonishment of the soldiers, as well as the Moros, strutted up to the sergeant in charge and offered his hand, American fashion.

"I'll be dinged, if it ain't Piang!" exclaimed Sergeant Greer. "Is this your old man, Piang?" he asked genially, pointing to Kali Pandapatan. The old chief stiffened at the apparent familiarity.

"Him big chief! Him Kali Pandapatan," hastily corrected Piang.

"Excuse me, sor; no hard feelings, I hope. Had a rough trip over, I hear; how did you leave the missus?"

When the remark had been interpreted, a murmur rippled through Kali's ranks, and hands flew to hips. No Moro permits his women to be spoken of.

"What's all the fuss, kid?" asked the sergeant, innocently.

With an impish grin, Piang replied:

"Him no like talk about missus; him got twenty."

"The deuce he has!" laughed the sergeant. "Some old scout!"

The good-natured Irishman finally gained the confidence of the ruffled potentate, and when Piang explained that he and the soldier were old friends, Kali solemnly acknowledged the union with a stiff handshake.

"Ver' good," said the savage with a grin. Piang glowed with pride at Kali's display of English.

"Now what do you know 'bout that?" commented Greer.

The savages were for all the world like packs of wild animals brought to bay. Gaudy Bogobos from Davao brushed shoulders for the first time with Sabanas and Kalibugans, and their snarls and bickerings boded ill for the success of the bichara; but finally the natives huddled together, linked by the common suspicion of their Christian enemy.

Before entering the town, every visitor was required to place his weapons in the lanceria. Now a weaponless Moro is the most embarrassed of men, with the possible exception of the dreamer who finds himself at a party in pajamas. A Moro's idea of his costume, arranged in order of its importance is: first, weapons; second, hat; third, shirt, and, incidentally, trousers.

The timid creatures slunk along, looking suspiciously behind them, but as the soldiers paid no attention to them, they gradually forgot their enmity toward civilization and became engrossed in the new delights: pink lemonade, pop-corn, toy balloons. They were beside themselves with joy. When ice-cream was introduced, and they had been assured that it would not burn them, their admiration was unbounded. Piang surreptitiously slipped some of the heavenly sweet into his wallet for future consumption and was dismayed a little later to find a thin stream trickling down his leg and an empty wallet.

Governor Findy watched with interest the mingling of the many alien people. Wily Chinamen behind their bamboo street-stalls ministered to the wants of the throng, taking in trade bits of gold-dust and trinkets of brass; Filipinos offered their wares, cooling drinks and sweets. The Filipino's costume is very different from that of the Moro. He wears stiff, white trousers, carefully creased and immaculate shirts which hang outside the trousers. He wears no shoes, and his short black hair is oiled and brushed very carefully.

"Now, it's many times I've been wonderin' what the advantage is in wearin' your shirt outside your trousers," said Sergeant Greer to a sentry. "That's what I call practical," and he pointed to an ice-cream vender, industriously wiping a spoon on the tail of his shirt, before offering it to a new customer.

There was great excitement over the coming baile (ball). That night savages and Christians were to enjoy the festivities side by side, and marvelous tales of preparation were being circulated. Piang and Kali Pandapatan wandered about the village, pausing here and there, filled with awe at the novel sights. The value of garters as necklaces had been discovered, and a brilliant crimson pair decorated the chief's neck (he had gladly parted with five dollars' worth of gold-dust for the treasure). Gilt collar buttons were forced into the holes in his ears. Safety-pins and their surprises had to be investigated, and an admiring throng crowded around, marveling at Kali's daring.

"Kali!" Piang exclaimed suddenly. "Look!"

Seated at a table in front of a Chino cafe, were three men in earnest conversation: Alverez, a Filipino mestizo, who had acquired by deception the Moro title, Dato Tamangung; his cousin Vincente; and the Moro malcontent, Sicto. The two Filipinos were disloyal employees of the government, already suspected of being the instigators of unrest among the Moros. Sicto was a deserter from Kali's ranks and was wanted by that august chief for many serious offenses. Dato Kali Pandapatan scorned to report Sicto to the authorities. A Moro dato is supreme and has the right to punish his subjects according to his own lights. A woman, mingling with the gala bichara throng had a mere stump for an arm; she was a thief and her hand had been severed to prevent it from offending again. A man with face half covered showed the savage justice dealt a liar; his mouth had been split from ear to ear to permit easier passage of the truth. Sicto would be handled according to Moro law, but not here.

Kali and Piang exchanged a knowing look, and Piang wandered off, apparently seeking new pleasures, but furtively watching the three men. He wormed his way through the crowd intent on a game of chess, played by two venerable old Chinamen. A sudden "Sssshhh" from Sicto interrupted Alverez's excited whisper, but not before Piang had caught a few significant words:

"The baile—juramentado—Findy."

The little charm boy's heart beat violently, but his face never changed expression. Juramentado! So some poor misguided fanatic had been persuaded to assassinate the governor. He and Kali must prevent the outrage, for had they not sworn allegiance to this new chief? Piang feared that Sicto suspected the words had been overheard, so he carefully avoided Kali and strolled on among the people. A glance at his chief had warned Kali that trouble was in the air.

Sicto, Alverez, and Vincente moved off toward the dock.

"Sicto, did Piang hear what I said?" asked Alverez.

"Does the jungle hear the trumpeting of the elephant?" angrily retorted Sicto.

"He hasn't spoken to any one yet," said Vincente, significantly. "We had better get rid of him before—"

A whispered conversation followed, and Alverez finally exclaimed:

"I'll do it! Wait here. Watch Piang." Then he hurried off.

Without approaching Kali, or divulging the secret to any one, Piang followed the men to the dock, and Sicto laughed softly as he watched the unsuspecting boy walk into the trap. The little gunboat Sabah was bobbing at her moorings, and Piang joined the crowd that was gazing in wonder at the strange craft. A shrill whistle, signifying the Sabah's intention of immediate departure, so terrified the Moros that some took to their heels while others sought the safety of tall lamp-posts. Piang was laughing merrily when he was startled by a noise, and turning, he saw Alverez and a soldier running toward him.

Instantly everything was confusion, and Piang realized that he was the center of the excitement.

"Are you Piang?" asked the soldier, cautiously approaching him.

"Sure, me Piang."

"Hike! Beat it!" said the man, pointing to the Sabah.

What did he mean? Was Piang to be allowed to go aboard the boat?

The soldier made it very plain, finally, that such was the case, but Piang insisted that he could not depart on a pleasure ride without getting his chief's permission.

"Sigi, beat it, I tell you, pronto!" said the soldier impatiently, emphasizing the command with a push. Almost before Piang realized it, he found himself on the gunboat, which was slowly moving out toward the channel. In his hand was a crumpled piece of paper which the soldier had gingerly thrust into it.

"Here's your passport, kid," he had said with a grin. Piang carefully unrolled the paper and stared at the queer American characters. A sailor offered to translate it for him, but when he glanced over the paper, he uttered a low whistle.

"Say, you go away back and sit down! Don't you come near me or any one else, sabe?"

Piang recoiled before the look of disgust on the sailor's face. What was the matter with every one? Why were they all afraid to come near him, and where were they taking him? He summoned up enough courage to ask who had written the letter, and when he was told that it was signed by Governor Findy, he felt reassured. Surely if the good governor was sending him somewhere, it would be all right. Disconsolately, Piang crouched in a corner, watching sharks and dolphins sporting in the foaming wake. He wondered how long the boat was going to be out, if it would return in time for him to save the governor. When he started toward a group of men to ask for information he was met with a shout.

"Get out of here, you!" they yelled, and poor Piang hurriedly retreated to the stern. Much talk of the coming baile seemed to indicate that the sailors expected to return before evening, so Piang patiently squatted on a coil of rope, wondering when the mysteries of his errand would be revealed to him.

The ocean is dotted with many lovely islands off Zamboanga. Somber, lowering Basilan guards its secrets to this day; Sacol, home of Dato Mandi, invites and then repels the intruder; tiny clumps of vivid green rise out of the channel in the most unexpected places, as if timidly wishing to investigate before adding their emerald mite to crown the Celebes. The island toward which the Sabah was making her way seemed blacker and denser than its more frivolous neighbors. Two staccato whistles warned the islanders of the Sabah's approach, and the beach was soon the scene of lively commotion. The engines stopped, and the gunboat slid along easily. A boat was lowered. The sailors were speaking in low voices; one looked toward Piang and shook his head sadly.

"My task is not to be an easy one," thought the charm boy, but his head went up proudly. These sailor men should see how a brave Moro executed the commands of his superiors.

"Come on, kid," called a jacky, and just as Piang stepped over the side a kindly sailor slipped a quarter in his hand. It was evidently a gift, and the boy grinned appreciatively.

"Wastin' your coin, man," remarked another sailor with a harsh 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.