Part 2

There was only one thing to be done. Taking a long breath, he grabbed his creese and dived. Down, down; the current pulled and tugged at him; the rush of sand and mud blinded him, and he was almost swept out into the river. But he managed to catch hold of the roots that were twined about the boat and finally cut the banco free. With a bound it started down the river. The empty shell, at the mercy of the waves, danced and frolicked like a crazy thing, and Piang was almost stunned by a blow from the outrigger as it passed him.

The boat was rushing right back into the midst of the crocodiles, but he bravely struck out after it. There was no chance for him if he failed to reach it. The whispering rushes and feathery palms at the water's edge hid evil-smelling mud, festering with fever, the home of reptiles and crocodiles. Desperately the boy strove to overtake the boat, and just as he was giving up hope, a friendly snag tempted the runaway to pause, and Piang's strong, young hand closed over the outrigger. Then began the task of climbing back. A sudden movement might release the banco, and it would continue its mad flight, which he would be powerless to stop. Keeping his eye on the frail-looking snag, he threw himself on his back in the water and worked his way along the outrigger as he would climb a tree. Finally his hand touched the body of the boat, and, cautiously turning over, he sat straddling the bamboo frame. It was all he could do to keep from jumping into the boat, but he restrained his impatience and started worming over the side.

Half-way in his heart gave a leap! He could hear the swish-swish of the water on the other side of the banco as something made its way toward him. The eddy was the only thing that saved him, for he could see the dread thing twirling round and round as it tried to reach him. The boy was almost paralyzed with fear. As long as the crocodile was on the other side of the boat, he was safe, but now—the snag creaked, stirred.

Piang made one heroic effort, lifted himself clear of the water, and fell exhausted into the boat. He was not a moment too soon. The crunching sound, as the support began to give under the strain, was a fit accompaniment to the snarling and snapping of the crocodile, which, deprived of its prey, was lashing the water, trying to reach the frail outriggers. Piang thought he had never been swept through the water so rapidly, and that he would never gain control of his boat. Louder and clearer came the sounds of the fighting monsters beyond the bend, and there between him and safety lurked his latest enemy.

An impertinent, ridiculous twitter came from a tiny scarlet-crowned songster, as if it were trying to advise and direct the hard-pressed boy. Its solemn, round eyes stared at him, reproving and admonishing him for his foolhardiness. Piang, on his knees, struggling with the current, was unaware of his audience. Gradually he worked the boat around and headed up-stream, straight for the crocodile. Surprised by this sudden change in tactics, it snorted and opened its repulsive jaws. Piang had hoped to catch it in this position, so, pressing forward as rapidly as possible, he took careful aim and hurled his knife into its mouth. Rising to his feet, spear poised, he waited to see if the knife would be effective. The creature floundered and slashed the water, gave a blood-curdling bellow, and rolled over on its back, dead. A crocodile fights with its last breath to remain on its belly, for if not dead, it drowns as soon as it turns over.

Piang wanted his weapon. The body of the animal was caught by the current and shot rapidly past him down-stream, but the boy, warned by the commotion further down, hesitated to follow it. He realized, however, that his knife was very valuable to him, and that he was sure to have urgent need of it again, so he started after the ugly body. The sparkling wavelets sported and capered with their grewsome burden, sometimes dashing it against some stray log, again bearing it far across the river as if purposely assisting it to elude its pursuer.

Piang skilfully guided his banco in its wake, and finally succeeded in thrusting his spear into its side, and pulled it toward the bank. The knife was embedded far down in the terrible jaws, and Piang wondered if he dared reach into them. He looked at the tusk-like teeth, the first he had ever seen at close quarters, but he remembered with a shudder the wounds that he had helped care for—wounds made by such poisonous tusks.

Mustering his courage, he slowly extended his hand into its mouth. The big, wet tongue flopped against his hand; the powerful jaws quivered spasmodically, and the hot, fetid steam from the throat sickened him. His knife! He must get it! Desperately he tugged at the handle; it would not loosen its hold. Cold sweat broke out all over Piang. A new sound arrested him. The crocodiles below had already smelled the blood of the second victim and were plunging up-stream to find it. The boy thought the knife would never come out. He worked and twisted, and finally it gave so suddenly, that he lost his balance, and by a quick turn of his body just saved himself from another ducking. It was lucky for Piang that he finished when he did, for around the curve in the river, headed directly toward him, came the crowding, vicious scavengers.

Gathering his wits quickly, he pushed forward. The snorting and fighting grew more and more distant; the peaceful river stretched out before him like a silver road beckoning him to safety, and he offered a prayer of thanksgiving to Allah, the Merciful, that he had been spared that awful death.

It was nearly evening when Piang beached his banco and took up the trail to the village where he was to spend his first night. Confidently he trotted through the jungle, picking his way easily among the gathering shadows. Soon voices became distinguishable, and he heard tom-toms beating the evening serenade. Dogs howled in response, women chattered, boys quarreled. To Piang this represented the usual day's peaceful ending.

As he trotted into the clearing and paused before the hut of the dato, the curious crowded around him: mothers to see if the stranger's muscles could compare with their lads'; girls to flaunt their charms; boys to measure him with their eyes. Piang had no interest in anything but the boys, and as soon as the dato condescended to greet him with the customary salutation for guests, he was left in peace to join them at their interrupted game of pelota.

Twilight comes quickly in the tropics. When darkness had fallen, each family was squatting beside its rice pot, and as the night silence deepened, the village slept. Piang had asked for no shelter, and no invitation had been extended, but he silently accepted the hospitality, according to the strange Moro codes.

Slumber claimed the inhabitants of the barrio, but all around the jungle woke to the night. Noxious blooms raised their heads to drink in the deadly moisture; hungry pythons took up their silent vigil at water holes; night prowlers slunk in the gloom to spring on the more defenseless creatures, and over it all the inscrutable jungle kept watch, passing silent judgment on man and beast, in this great scheme of life.

SECOND ADVENTURE

THE FLOATING ISLAND

Like a mirror framed in soft velvet green, the lake broke upon Piang. In the still noon heat the motionless water scintillated and sparkled and the powerful rays of the sun seemed to penetrate to the very bottom. Dragon-flies and spiders skated merrily about, eluding the ever-watchful fishes lying in wait amid forests of lacy seaweeds and coral. Tall, stately palms, towering above their mates, scorned to seek their reflections in the clear depths, but frivolous bamboo and nipa-palms swayed gently out over the water, rustling and chattering with delight at their mirrored images.

Piang slipped through the mouth of the creek and gazed in amazement at the vast sheet of water. Stories of the lake and its wonderful floating islands had lured him from the more direct route to Ganassi Peak, and he eagerly searched for one of the curiosities. His eyes focused on a dot of green far in the distance. It was moving, turning, and suddenly a whole fleet of dancing, playful islands became distinct. Joyfully Piang started in pursuit. He wanted to see one, to touch it. Swiftly he flew through the water. As if detecting his purpose, the nomad islands eluded him. As soon as he chose one to pursue, it flaunted its charms the more and capered and dodged behind its fellows. Like a giant may-pole, the largest island held several smaller ones in leash, permitting them to revolve around it, interlacing vines and creepers that were rooted on the mother isle. Monkeys and jungle creatures crept fearlessly along these natural ropes, sporting from one island to another. Hablar-birds and aigrets squabbled over bits of rice and wild fruits. Piang caught sight of a civet-cat crouching in a tree on one island. It had probably gone to sleep in that tree while the island was nosing the mainland and had awakened to find itself adrift. Sometimes these floating islands would be held to the shore for years, intertwining liana (climbing plants of tropical forests) and bajuca (jungle rope), but sooner or later some wild storm is sure to set them wandering again.

There were weird tales of early Dyak settlers. These Borneo pirates had fled to Mindanao to escape justice, bringing many cruel and terrible customs that were to take root and bear fruit among the tribes of the sultan. A favorite pastime of the Dyaks had been to bind captives to a stray island and lead it slowly and tantalizingly to the mammoth waterfalls, shouting and dancing with glee as it plunged into the abyss.

The lake was like a fairy-land. Purple lotus flowers surrounded the boat. Piang dipped his hands into the cool water, and pulled them up by long slender roots; lily-pads offered their beauties and soon the banco was a bower of fragrant and brilliant flowers. Playfully Piang caught at a vine, floating in the wake of an island. The natural boat led him gently about, twisting and circling back and forth. He laughed merrily. The islands were too funny! They seemed almost human in their antics. Some had regular routes, and, like mail boats touched the same spot again and again, only to be hurried on as the current caught them. Others with malicious intent strayed in the path of their more systematic brothers, bumping and jarring them with obstinate regularity.

The joy of freedom thrilled Piang; the intimacy with nature and its mysteries stirred within him a desire to know more, feel more, and he gazed at the distant peak where his fortune awaited him, wondering if the old hermit, Ganassi, was in reality watching for his coming.

Toward afternoon Piang became conscious of a heavy steam-like vapor rising from the undergrowth at the edge of the jungle; the atmosphere grew suddenly sticky and sultry. Almost within a moment the brilliant sunshine was blotted out, and a gray twilight settled over the lake. Frightened birds, squawking and screaming, hurried by; a fawn, drinking at the water's edge, darted off through the jungle. A slight frown rippled across the water; the breeze chilled Piang. Trees in the distance seemed to bend nearly double with no apparent cause, but the rush of wind finally swept the whole valley, and the jungle shuddered and swayed before it. The storm seemed an animate thing, seemed to come upon the peacefulness of the lake like an evil genius, hurling its fury upon nature and her creatures.

Piang had never been alone in a typhoon. In bewilderment he looked about, wondering where he could find shelter. He watched the birds, the animals; his boat brought up against something with a thud. An island had bumped into him, and he realized in dismay what a menace the pretty toys might become in a typhoon. Struggling with the tempest, Piang fought past the islands, reached the shore, turned his banco bottom side up, and crept underneath.

The violent wind began to dash loose objects about, tearing limbs off trees and hurling them aloft as if they were mere splinters. A cocoanut crashed down, striking the ground near Piang; another fell, and yet another. Then the rain came in torrents. It fell unevenly as if poured by mighty giants from huge buckets. The ground beneath Piang was swaying, undulating. A tree crashed to the ground, tearing away vines and ferns. As he began to experience the motion of a boat, Piang became thoroughly alarmed and, dashing aside the banco, sprang to his feet.

Terror flashed into his heart. What was happening? He had landed on the mainland and put his banco under a big tree, and now this tree was pitching and swaying, its branches sweeping the ground. The tree was being uprooted, and the earth at Piang's feet was plowed up as roots tore through the surface. The next tree was being felled in the same manner, and as his eyes darted about, he beheld everywhere the same terrifying picture. These mighty monuments of time, trees older than man, were being torn from their beds and thrown to the ground or left standing against each other for support. It seemed to be only the trees in Piang's vicinity that were doomed to destruction, and, although it was a dangerous thing to attempt, Piang decided to seek another shelter. He took a few difficult steps forward and was almost stunned by the immense fall of water. It dashed into his face, beat upon his head in a stinging, hissing mass; it ran in streams down his arms and legs, making him heavy and clumsy. As he caught at a tree for support, it groaned under his weight and crashed to earth; the ground was giving way, and he felt himself sinking. With a scream, he freed himself, and, jumping to a fallen tree, clung desperately, hoping to escape flying missiles. Just as he gathered himself for another advance his heart gave a jump. Through the mad rage of the typhoon, he could hear quick breathing! The ground tipped and swayed alarmingly, tossing trees about like masts on a ship in distress.

"Linug!" ("Earthquake!") moaned Piang. Bravely the boy crept forward, knife in hand. Whatever it was, hiding under that log, Piang must take his chances; if he remained where he was he would certainly be killed by falling trees. His feet made a sucking sound; a vivid flash of lightning blinded him, and it was all he could do to force his way through the wall of water that was pounding down upon him. With a desperate effort, he pulled himself along by vines, hoping to pass the unknown animal before it could leap; but the branches stirred, and he sprang back with a cry.

"Babui!" ("Wild boar!") he gasped. The creature's head shook with fury; its teeth were bared, and the tiny red eyes flamed with anger. The babui had the largest tusks Piang had ever seen, and he grasped his bolo firmly to meet the rush. One second, two seconds—the suspense was fearful, and Piang wondered why the boar did not attack. Strained almost beyond his endurance, he stood, rigid and cold, waiting. The wind sucked at his breath; the torrents of water, dashing in his face, kept him blinking and gasping, and still that wild thing pawed and snorted. Fascinated, Piang gazed into the vicious, bleary eyes, and finally he realized that they were losing some of their fury; the tusks sank into the spongy earth; the head fell lower. The babui was a prisoner, pinioned to the ground by a fallen tree! Relief was Piang's first sensation, but pity for the animal and fear for himself, roused him to the realization of new dangers yet to be faced. He must plunge into the dense jungle; it was only a short distance now. He glanced back to be sure that the babui could not free itself; it was swaying and moaning, unable to move.

As Piang paused to get his directions, the earth gave a tremendous jerk, which threw him on his face. He lay stunned for a few minutes and when he rose to his knees, he had the sensation of floating gently, softly. The jerking and trembling had ceased, and the ground swayed soothingly. Piang turned toward the jungle, to the spot where he had been about to step. Could he believe his eyes? Almost numb with terror, he gazed stupidly into the receding jungle. He was on land, but he was floating. He was sailing away from the jungle! Piang had taken refuge on a floating island.

In despair he gazed about him, trying to penetrate the thickly driving rain. He was on the very edge of the island and he wondered why he had not been swept into the lake. The mass of vegetation, wrenched from its bed, trailed along in the water as the nomad island whirled and danced on the angry waves. A tree, the branches of which were hanging in the water, was pulled from its bed, dragging part of the island with it. One long vine struggled to right itself against the current, to gain the shelter of the island again. It seemed most lifelike, and suddenly Piang realized with a shudder that it was alive. A python had been knocked from the falling tree and was being dragged along. Only the end of its tail was twined about a log; desperately it strove to work its way back, and Piang watched with dread. Its struggles grew weaker and weaker, and finally its head sank below the waves, and it joined the unresisting creepers that were being dragged along to destruction.

Piang leaned wearily against the only tree that remained standing; the fall of water, tearing down the trunk, cascaded over the jungle boy, and he raised his hand to shield his eyes. What had saved the solitary tree, Piang could not imagine, until he discovered a small diamond-shaped cut in the bark. He drew back with a shudder. Two crossed arrows were carved within the diamond. This was another Dyak custom so hateful to the Mohammedan; the tree was the sarcophagus of some Borneo chief. A century must have passed since the burial, for the incision was almost obliterated, but Piang knew that the mummy of his enemy reposed in savage dignity within the heart of the tree, and that the Dyak belief was that the tree could not fall or decay. He fought his way to the other side of the island. On it sped. Cries of frightened animals came faintly from the mainland; screams of birds, beaten to earth, pierced the din.

A tremor ran through the island. There was a tearing sound as if strong timbers were being forced apart; the whole mass stood still, then came a tremendous crash. It had collided with the fleet that Piang had been sporting with only an hour before. Surely the stray bits of jungle would crush each other to bits. A gray streak flew past Piang, and a frightened monkey, thinking to save itself from the other derelict, nearly landed on the babui. Paying no attention to either the boy or the babui, the monkey shrank against a log and hid its head, whining piteously.

A pale light broke through the gloom, and the rain ceased as suddenly as it had come. Piang's heart gave a bound as he watched the tempest abate. Suddenly he straightened himself and strained his ears to catch a new sound. What was that deep, distant rumbling? A cry so piteous broke from him, that even the dying babui started. The falls! He could hear them distinctly and realized that he was rushing toward them at a mad pace. Louder and clearer grew the thunder of those falls, and Piang's staunch little heart rebelled. He would not stand there like a Dyak prisoner! He would do something. He would save himself! A blazing flash rent the heavens and Piang caught sight of Ganassi Peak frowning and lowering in the clouds. Ganassi! If he only knew! No, it was too late. The falls roared hungrily, and nothing could keep the island from plunging to destruction.

Slowly Piang rose to his full height, and, folding his arms, determined to die bravely. He could see the upper falls now, high above his head, and he pictured the greater falls below him—the falls that were waiting to swallow his island. He tried to remember the prayer for such an occasion, but none came to him.