Part 12

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.

"Papita!" Piang scornfully whispered. "Papita, indeed!" His lip curled, and he glared through the rushes at the hideous Sicto.

"Well, it shall be Papita's after all!" Piang said and he smiled. He crept toward the little craft to see if there were paddles in it. There were two, and Piang suddenly remembered that part of the Dyak betrothal ceremony takes place upon the water.

Long Piang pondered as he watched the preparations for Papita's betrothal. He examined the cotta, counted the praus, and his keen eyes followed the creek to its sharp turn. He crawled past the bend to make sure that the stream was navigable. Satisfied that he could escape through its waters, Piang began to cut rushes, and, squatting in the protecting undergrowth, busily worked while he indignantly listened to the loquacious Sicto telling his followers that Papita was no slave, but a maiden of royal Bogobo birth. He and his father had kept it secret because they intended her for his wife, and at last he had captured the girl from Kali Pandapatan. Faster and faster flew Piang's fingers, and finally a basket began to shape itself out of the rushes. Soon Piang had two perfect baskets, and he slung them over his shoulder. While Sicto and his villains were celebrating the coming wedding, Piang quietly slipped back through the jungle, back to the brook where the medicinal clay had cured the bee stings. When he returned later, he handled the baskets with great care and chuckled softly to himself.