CHAPTER XII
THE MAJOR FOLLOWS
The big wall fan, a new symbol of the progress of the Americanundertaking, oscillated in jumpy turns that rustled the papers on thepolished desk. Major Bronner sat staring at the maps which covered thewalls of his office. His heavily tanned face bore new lines, worry andgrief and there was a new set to the heavy jaw.
Rising with sudden determination he hurried down the corridor into theGovernor's office and faced Governor Mason with the strained aspect ofa strong man sorely beset. The Governor gravely studied the eyes thatbored beseechingly into his own, then reached into one of his deskbaskets and lifted a stiff paper.
"Major," he said slowly, "here is Lieutenant Terry's promotion. Theyforwarded it immediately after receipt of my telegraphed report of hisprompt action against Malabanan's brigands." As the Major did not takeit but continued to regard him steadily out of brooding eyes, theGovernor returned the commission to the basket and fell to drumminghis desk.
He broke the long silence: "Major, you really think you should go?" Itwas hardly a question.
"Governor, I must go!"
The older man studied his inkwell: "Major, it was over three weeks agothat Sergeant Mercado sent you his report: it seems rather--rather--"he was loath, to say it--"rather hopeless."
He remained in contemplation of his uninspiring inkwell for a longminute then delved into his basket for a letter received that morningfrom the Lieutenant Governor of Davao, a letter he had read manytimes. He scanned it again.
"Major, Terry has been missing over three weeks, was ill when he waslast seen. It seems certain that he either succumbed to fever orelse--you know he entered the woods right at the edge of the HillCountry, and if he strayed off his course he is almost certainly--"
Bronner broke in upon him, frantically unwilling to hear the wordspoken. He was furious in his grief.
"Yes, they wait three weeks before reporting his disappearance--thebest officer in the Service--sick--alone in the woods!--no rations,no--nothing, except a canteen and a pistol! If I were governor I'dfire the whole damned crew down there!"
The Governor regarded him with wise patience till he choked intosilence. "No, Major. There was no fault. The Sergeant reported inDavao that Terry had gone to Dalag to see the doctor, so it was notuntil Merchant finished his work there that they learned from him thatTerry had not reached him. It was no fault of any one, Major; justhard, hard luck. Now, I have been thinking over your request to go insearch of Terry's--in search of Terry, and I have decided. Thedespatch boat is now at the wharf subject to your orders. She makessomething over twenty knots."
"Governor, I'm--I appreciate your--Governor, it means a good deal tome!"
"I will not detain you, Major. You do as you find best when you reachDavao. Pacify the planters first--this report says that they are wildwith grief and rage. Of course you will take temporary command ofTerry's Macabebes. The entire company is there now and with them youcould doubtless smash your way up into the Hills. I had other hopes,hopes of winning them peaceably--hopes in which Terry figured....Well, I know you are anxious--so run along."
He rose and came around the big desk to take the Major's hand in afatherly farewell. After the Major had torn out of the room theGovernor closed the door and stood at the window looking out over thebusy Straits, his face older, stripped of the optimism with which heinvariably confronted all of these young men who were associated withhim in the Moro task. Sometimes it all seemed so hopeless, so futile.
For a long time the Governor stood at the window. He was facingwestward toward India, that mystic ever-ever land that had been thegoal of all the nations since before Columbus and was finally won bythe steady strength and genius of a meager island people. But itscost--its cost in fair-haired, ruddy-cheeked youth! As in othermatters of government we had learned colonization at Mother England'sknee, had sought to apply her precepts, to avoid her mistakes: butthere was no avoiding that penalty, that expenditure of young men.Quotations from the interpreter of the white man's burden came to hislips: "'_The deaths ye have died I have watched beside._'" Hewhispered the line over and over again.
He was still gazing somberly over the wide waters when Bronner rusheddown the pier below him and leaped into the cockpit of the power boat.An orderly followed on the run and dumped the Major's luggage into theboat. A Moro cast off the restraining hauser and the snowy hull leapedforward, nose high in the air. When it reached a point opposite wherethe Governor stood its stern was buried deep by the terrific thrash ofthe screw, and borne on the swift ebb tide it streaked out of sightinto the west, like a thing alive. The Major was off--the Constabularyguards its own. When one falls, others search, and bury, and avenge.
* * * * *
The Major settled on the stern seat for the long ride. He had histhoughts, thoughts that set his jaws till they ached. The motorsroared as they coursed through a shifting panorama of islands, littleheavens of cool verdure as seen from the power boat which rode low,rising and falling gently in the smooth swells which ribbed theCelebes from horizon to horizon. From the low seaboard they lookedback upon a thin trail of white dashes which marked the wake theirspeed had traced upon the tops of the oily undulations. Adams, themechanician, a slim, clean-cut young fellow, scarce glanced at Bronnerthrough the passing hours but hovered over his engines, absorbed intheir operation.
The night passed, and the day was nearly done as they shot up to thelittle wooden dock at Davao with a grinding of gears in reverse.Adams silenced the motors, then turned in stiff fatigue to the Majorwith an expression that transfigured his greasy features.
"Major, I've broken the record for this run by four hours. Now it's upto you!"
"You know, then, why I'm--"
"Yes, I know. And I knew Terry--in Sorsogon Province. I was down andout, a beachcomber,--booze. And he was kind to me, when I neededkindness.... It's up to you, Bronner."
The Major stepped up on the dock, unsteady of limb after the night andday, his ears roaring from the long punishment. Stamping the length ofthe dock to regain his land legs, he returned to meet Doctor Merchant,who had hastened down to the dock. His heavy hurry had glittered himwith a profuse perspiration that coursed down over his exposed skinareas, and he wiped his hands and wrists with a big bandana beforeshaking hands with the Major. His entire mien bespoke anxiety.
"We expected you, Major--though not so soon. You know all about--aboutit?"
The Major nodded: "The Governor showed me Whipple's letter."
"Well, that's about all we know here. Terry was sick when he wentafter Malabanan's outfit--he never should have gone. And after doingthat job--and it was SOME job, believe me!--he started cross countryto see me--knew he was sick. It was over two weeks later that Ifinished and came in--and when I arrived without him there was aregular riot!"
He wiped his face and neck: "Major, I'll never forgive myself forexposing him to that fever--but I couldn't do a thing till hecame--they would do nothing I told them. Do you know how it was hecaught it?" He was at once mournful and enraged. "Gave his mosquitonet to the chief's wife because she was 'soon to become a mother,' ashe put it: and right after he rode away I found she had cut the netinto four big pieces and was using them for _towels_! Yes, sir! Fortowels!"
He wiped away with the bandana, thinking that thus he concealed hisemotions.
"Major, you've got your work cut out--a bunch of the planters are intown this afternoon, planning a raid into the Hills. Lindsey and Searsare the wildest--the whole bunch will get wiped out if they set footin the Hills! You had better see them right away--and you'll have yourhands full--they're mighty determined."
He paused, fretting, then turned his big bulk with surprisingswiftness: "Well--say something! What are you going to do about this?Going to clean out the Hills? Or are you going to let--" he stormed onand on, checking the flow at last to press his hospitality upon theMajor.
"Thanks, Medico, but I'll just sling my bag in Terry's house and sleepthere
to-night: and I can eat at the Club."
The doctor accompanied him as far as Terry's old quarters and passedon to his own house farther down the street. Matak, gloomy andwordless, relieved the Major of his bag at the door. The house wassilent, and darkened by drawn pearl-shell shutters. The Major stood amoment at the doorway, half sickened by the unused appearance of thefamiliar cane chairs, table, desk, and bookcases, then he followedMatak into the bedroom he had used before. He cleaned up and changedto whites, and when he came out Matak had thrown the windows wide tothe afternoon sun. But the house was thick with the uncomfortablesilence that pervades unused, furnished habitations and unable toendure the room he hurried out and over to the _cuartel_.
The fiery little Macabebes seemed subdued. Mercado blamed himself forleaving his officer under the circumstances, was bitterlyself-reproachful for not having sent a soldier with him. He went overthe ground carefully but could add nothing but immaterial detail towhat the Major already knew, but the Major remained in the littleoffice until dark, listening with grim satisfaction to Mercado'saccount of the swift retribution that had followed Malabanan's testingof Constabulary strength.
He excused the Sergeant and sifted through the pile of official andpersonal mail which lay in the basket marked "unfinished." Sorting it,he came across a cablegram addressed to Terry and dated the morningthat Terry had left in pursuit of the brigands.
"From the States, too," he muttered. Moved by an impulse and hardlyconscious of what he did, he folded it twice and placed it in hispurse.
In half an hour he had finished the few reports that must be executed,and rose to go. Mercado was waiting for him at the door.
"Sir," he said, standing stiffly at attention and watched by a scoreof Macabebes who knew his intention to draw the Major out, "weMacabebes are soldiers, sir--we never question. But if the Major comesto lead troops up--there, sir, to bury our Lieutenant, it is aMacabebe task! We loved him, sir."
The big Major looked down at the earnest veteran, touched by thedramatic simplicity of his appeal.
"Sergeant," he said, "if I do lead a force up there your Macabebeswill be where they belong--at the front of the column!"
He took the grateful salute and passing out between two rigid lines ofthe stalwart little men he crossed the plaza to the Club.
Entering, he noted the unusual number of Stetsons that hung on thehatrack, and passing inside, saw that the steward was guarding a scoreof rifles and revolvers. For a moment he stood unnoticed by the groupsof determined men who occupied the round dining tables in parties offour and five. Selecting the table occupied by Lindsey, he went in.
He felt the tension of the room increase as he entered. All looked upwith friendly word or nod, but from the manner in which they eyed himand each other he knew that his coming and his purpose had been thesubject of their conversations. He sat down with Lindsey and his twocompanions. One of these, O'Rourke, had been the pioneer hemp planterand now enjoyed a big income; the other, a nervous, hasty young fellownamed Boynton, had borne a reputation as a squawman that had deprivedhim of intimacy with his own kind, but had recently put his house inorder and rehabilitated himself with those who found decency in cleanliving.
In an effort to relieve the atmosphere of constraint the threeplanters attempted conversation, but it fell dead, and each appliedhimself to his dinner. The Major's eyes roved over the crowded room,then bored Lindsey's.
"This is the biggest crowd I ever saw in the Club," he suggested,tentatively.
All understood the question in his words, but none answered. SuddenlyBoynton flushed with the hot rush of temper to which he was subject.
"Yes," he exclaimed defiantly, "and it's a good crowd, too! A crowdthat's got guts! We're going to have a look at those Hills!"
Lindsey had tried to stop him, but nothing could halt the impetuousBoynton. O'Rourke snorted disgustedly: "Lave it to Bhoynton to shpillthe banes!"
With Boynton's outburst the Major tightened. These determined men werehard to handle. He glanced around the room into the faces turnedtoward him: Boynton's tense voice had carried throughout the room andall of the planters had twisted about in their chairs to face him.They knew the showdown was at hand, were ready to support Boynton'sdeclaration of their purpose.
The Major turned to Boynton: "You aim to leave forty or fifty moregood Americans to rot in the Hills?"
Boynton fully realizing that the Major was addressing the crowdthrough him, and feeling their support, spoke more coolly: "Well,Major, we're ready to chance that!"
The Major continued, more slowly: "What could fifty men--even suchgood men as this fifty would be--do against the Hill People? And howwould they find their way to them? And how would they overcome enemiesthey could not find or see, enemies who blow darts that just prick theskin but bring almost instant death? And if you did reach them, andkill a large number of them--what would it avail Terry?"
Pausing long enough for this to sink into their minds, he continuedmore sternly: "And furthermore and more important, how could such aforce, organized out of worthy motives but nevertheless engaged in anunlawful enterprise, hope to even reach the Hill Country--knowing thatthey would have to first fight their way through a hundred of the bestMacabebe riflemen in the Islands ... with me leading the Macabebes."
No one stirred. They knew the Major. This was no threat, no boast, hehad merely stated a fixed purpose. This was Constabulary business,would be handled by Constabulary.
"Snap" Hoffman, a husky, keen-eyed youth who enjoyed the uniquereputation of being the best poker player and the hardest worker inthe Gulf, spoke coldly from an adjoining table.
"Bronner, maybe your Macabebes wouldn't fight against people going upto square things for the officer they lost--I guess you don't knowwhat they thought of him! But forgetting that part of it--what wewant to know is, what are you going to do about reaching out for him,or for those who 'got' him?"
The hissing of the acetylene burners sounded loud in the room duringthe pause in which the sunburned planters waited the Major's answer.He spoke to Hoffman, without resentment.
"'Snap,' I had plenty of time to think it all out, on the way downhere. There is just one way to find out about Terry: I am startinginto the Hills to-morrow at daylight."
"With the Macabebes?" Hoffman retained the spokesmanship.
The Major slowly shook his head. The powerful lights glinted upon thebrass buttons of his uniform and etched the deep lines in the heavilytanned face.
"No," he said. "The Governor has given me a free hand in this, as itis a Constabulary job--we look after our own. You all know, as well asI, what it would mean to force our way in. We would get in eventually,but in addition to leaving too many good men in the everlasting shadeof the forest, we would defeat our own ends. For if he is still livingthey would surely finish him if we undertook a punitive expedition.
"I have laid my plans on my absolute confidence that he is living. Iknow he is, somehow. So I am starting up after him in the morning ...alone."
Consternation was written upon every face excepting Lindsey's, who hadunderstood the Major's purpose from the moment he curbed Boynton.Amazement altered to admiration, then to uneasy forebodings. The Majorwatched them as they whispered to each other and as he read theiracceptance of his plans he turned to his cold dinner.
The planters found relief in following suit. The stewards returned tothe care of the tables. Cigars, the best from Luzon's northern fields,followed Benguet coffee and when champagne glasses appeared at eachplate in indication of some diner's birthday or other happy occasion,the planters searched each others' faces to identify the celebrant. Asthe Chino withdrew after filling the glasses Lindsey rose, glass inhand, speaking with his characteristic sincerity and with an easygrace that belied his rough planter's garb.
"Gentlemen, I propose an absent friend ... a friend of all of us. Onewho has meant much to all of us, has done much for many of us, hasharmed none by careless deed or word or thought: one who knows thehigh places but realizes that
life is lived on level planes.Gentlemen"--he lifted his glass high--"to the--HEALTH--of LieutenantRichard Terry, P. C."
A swift scraping of feet and of chairs pushed back and they all stoodin mute acclaim of Lindsey's sentiments, subscribed with him to theMajor's refusal to believe that ill had befallen him whom they hadassembled to avenge. Seated again they watched Lindsey, who remainedstanding while the Chino refilled the glasses. Lindsey spoke again.
"I ask you now to pledge the only man I know whose bravery, sincerityand friendship are of a quality to fit him to be the chief of him towhom it was just now our honor to do honor.
"Gentlemen ... Major John Bronner, P. C.!"
The response was a thrilling tribute to the flushed officer whoremained seated until the clamor had subsided, then bowed hisembarrassed gratitude.
They crowded around him as he rose to go, each offering advice andwarnings, wringing his big hand. Boynton drew him a little aside.
"Major," he said earnestly, "I hope you find him--all right--not--nothurt. He was fine to me--I came near making an awful mistake--about anative woman. But he came to me and talked me out of it--spent thenight with me, talking about his mother ... she died when he was alittle shaver ... and he talked about clean living, and the duty ofcarrying on your white blood unpolluted. He didn't preach--just talkedsense, and was awfully--friendly. I quit the dame cold!"
Gripping Bronner's hand, Boynton left the room. Lindsey accompaniedthe Major to the door and into the reading room, pointing to theplacard tacked up under the skin of the python.
"You remember the wording of the first sign? 'Major Bronner owes hislife to the wonderful pistol marksmanship of his friend, Lieut.Richard Terry, P. C.' He was here the night that Malabanan brokeloose--you will hear about that night of his in the Club--and the nextday we found that he had changed the placard. Look."
He pulled the Major over and they read:
This python, the largest but one measured since American occupation, was killed on the plantation of Mr. Eric Lindsey.
Length...................24 ft., 9 inches Diameter, thickest..............14 inches
"We didn't see him do it, but we knew he must have been the one whochanged it. As that's the way he wanted it, we can't change it--now."
Grief shadowed his earnest countenance again as he faced the Major:"Don't you think that in view of my friendship for him--and foryou--that I am entitled to go up with you?"
"No, that's all settled, Lindsey."
The Major passed out, but pausing on the dark walk in front of thebuilding to relight his cigar, he heard Lindsey outlining plans forthe campaign the planters would undertake if the Major had notreturned at the end of two weeks.
* * * * *
In the early morning he made a light pack of rations and the beads,matches and red calico he had secured to use as presents in case hewon through to the Hill People. He dressed for the field in khaki,filled an extra canteen and after breakfast mounted Terry's big graypony and rode off with Mercado, whom he took to guide him to the spotwhere Terry was last seen. The Macabebe took the lead and pressed bythe urgent white man lathered his pony in the rapid pace he setthrough the winding trail. They dismounted at the ford shortly beforesunset.
While the Major was transferring his pack from saddle to shoulders theMacabebe explored the pool with distrustful eyes. But Sears had donehis work thoroughly: two cases of dynamite had blown in the banks andcreated a new channel through which the water flowed swiftly. The poolhad been narrowed by half and shallowed to a depth of ten feet in theseries of explosions Sears had detonated until the river gave up therent carcass of the monstrous reptile.
The Major adjusted the pack to his liking, waved farewell to theMacabebe and moved toward the fringe of woods with a swinging stride.The soldier watched the receding figure with mingled admiration andawe. The Malay stood irresolute as the white man's head and shoulderspassed from view under the low hanging branches, watched the pendulouskhaki legs swing rhythmically into the shadows of the forest and outof vision, then cast one long look up over the dense roof of theforest which swept far up to end at Apo's summit, and atremble withthe appalling memories of the lonely spot he mounted the gray and ledhis own exhausted pony along the edge of the pool. Once he glancedback apprehensively as a small Bogobo agong sounded somewhere to thenorth and filled the woods with its deep and mournful tones, thenhurried on homewards.
The Major had headed due west, straight toward the summit of themountain. He walked on through the last hour of the afternoon and asthe woods became denser and darker he used the slope of the forestfloor as his point, always facing in the direction of the risingascent. He made good time, as here the going was little obstructed bycreepers or thorned "wait-a-minute." Alert, he studied every sound ofthe forest life, for though he had placed his life on the knees of thegods he valued it too highly to neglect any slightest precaution.Inside his shirt there bulged a heavy 45 slung from a leatherbreast-holster. This lone attempt of the Hills was no suddeninspiration; he had planned it logically. There was no other way. Upthere, somewhere, lay or lived his friend. Friendship was the call,friendship and ... The Service.
The sun, glinting fitfully through openings in the thatching ofsparkling green leaves, dropped lower and sank from sight, and beforethe brief twilight faded he selected a spot beneath a great mango treeas his first camping place. Gathering some dry twigs and dead boughshe built a fire at the edge of a little stream and ate sparingly ofhis store of beans, chocolate and tinned sausages. In his collapsiblepan he heated water and dissolved his coffee crystals, and the coffeefinished, he boiled more water with which he filled his canteens andhung them on a branch after dipping the woolen jackets into the creekto secure the coolness of evaporation.
Night fell black in the forest. He threw more brush on the fire toenlarge the circle of light, and made himself a comfortable couch bypatiently stripping the small branches of their most leafy twigs, andwrapped himself in his blanket, vainly hoping that sleep would come.
From time to time he rose to add fuel to the fire, as he wanted thelight to be visible from the Gulf, where troubled friends would besearching the night hills with worried eyes. And he wished the flameto be seen in the Hills by those who lurked in the dark shadows sothat they might know that no element of stealth entered into theapproach of this white man who invaded a territory forbidden tostrangers since the earliest dawn of Philippine history. Thisidea--the thorough advertisement of fearless confidence--was the basisof his plan. He knew wild men.
Desperately he fought off the forebodings which assailed him in thedeep silence of the forest night, for hours he tossed in the distressof apprehension over the friend of whom he came in search. Toward dawnhe fell asleep puzzling over the problem of Terry's reason for closingthe door of his bedroom before going to bed and then opening it forventilation. He waked from a dream in which he had slyly peered intothe room in time to see Terry withdrawing a hypodermic needle from hisarm, and lay worrying about the vivid nightmare until he noticed thatthe fire was dimming before the coming of dawn.
He breakfasted, drowned the embers of his fire with water from thestream, then reslung his pack and started up the slope. The way grewsteeper with the hours, the forest thicker. The green roof of foliagewas now so thick that the sun seldom penetrated and where it didstrike through the sunlit spots were dazzling in contrast with thesomber shadow of the forest. The undergrowth grew denser, so that heclimbed with greater toil through the maze of thorned bush and snakycreepers that twined in enormous lengths across the forest floor.
The never-ending gloom of the weird twilight grew on his nerves. Hetried to whistle to cheer himself but forebore when the uncannyechoes rocketed in the dismal cathedral of towering trunks.
It was rough and cheerless going. There were no trails. Once, towardnoon, while he was munching chocolate to appease his empty stomach, hesuddenly came upon a sort of runway, a beaten trail. He stepped intothis easier path bu
t had taken but a few steps when he was startled bythe vicious rush of a swift object that whizzed up through the air andtore through a fold of his loose riding breeches, then swung backbefore his eyes to vibrate into stillness. It was a bamboo dagger,sharpened to a keen edge and point, hardened by charring in a slowfire. Fastened to a young sapling, it had been bent down over thetrail and secured by a trigger his foot had released in passing. Levelwith his thigh, it had been designed to pierce the abdomen of theHillmen's natural foes. He bent to examine the glutinous material withwhich the dagger was poisoned, and paled as he considered his closeescape. Such a death--in such a place....
After assuring himself that his skin had not been broken by the_balatak_, he stepped gingerly off the trail and made his way upward,carefully avoiding every inch of ground that appeared suspicious. Witheach mile of ascent the way grew steeper, the forest deeper anddarker, the green ceiling reared higher on more massive trunks.
In mid afternoon he noticed that he was passing through a zone ofutter forest silence. There were no relieving sounds of voice or wingor padded foot. It was appalling. Nothing in his vivid experienceshad approached the menace of these silent trees.
Pausing to rest in an area where an unusual amount of indirect lightfiltered down through the lofty screen of leaves he looked about him,found no tree he could identify, and felt the hostility that strangegrowths radiate. His thoughts flew back to the security andfriendliness of the elms and maples of his boyhood haunts. As hepeered through the endless avenues of trunks that rose from the darkslope, he learned what fear is. But he went on, faster.
An hour later, clambering over the trunk of a huge windfall thatblocked his path, he jumped down upon something that half pierced theheel of his heavy shoe. Leaning back upon the big log he tugged tillthe foot was released. He had landed upon a carpet of leaves whichconcealed a number of sharpened bamboo stakes bedded deep in theground, point upward. Raking out the leaves with a stick, he uncovereda nest of sixteen spearheads smeared with the brown venom.
Forced to study his every footfall, he made slower progress. He wasfar up the great slope when he noticed that the tangled underbrush hadgiven way to a smooth carpet of leaves. Night was near, so he haltedwhen he came to an open spot, a place where volcanic rock precludedvegetable growth. Water, steaming hot, poured from a fissure.
It was the first time he had sighted the sky since morning, and herehe saw the only sign of life the day had afforded. Two gray pigeonsflew side by side across the opening in the trees, winging toward thecrest of the mountain.
Sleep did not come to him. All through the night he sat by the fire,staring out into the ruddy circle of vision illumined by the blaze,peering into the shadows cast by the great trunks. Once a dead limbfell from a towering tree that stood just at the edge of the circle oflight: he started violently, his hand darting into his shirt front tohis gun. He relaxed, slowly. Big drops of moisture dripped from theinvisible treetops. Thinking it nearly dawn he consulted his watch. Itwas eleven o'clock.
Suddenly he sensed that he was no longer alone, felt the presence ofstealthy forms in the surrounding darkness, heard a twig snap in thestill forest behind him. He waited, tense, the hair at the back of hisneck stiffening as he thought of blowpipes and of darts poisoned bysteeping in the putrid entrails of wild hogs.
He felt the scrutiny of hostile eyes. Certain that he detected themovement of an indistinct figure on the rim of the firelight, he threwon a handful of dry twigs hoping to uncover the prowlers, but theflareup revealed only an enlarged circle of great trees and emphasizedtheir shadows. He sat motionless, his eyes focussed sharply upon thespot, and as the fire died down he saw the flicker of a dark form asit darted from the shadow of the tree and dissolved into the borderinggloom.
He gritted his teeth in an agony of suspense and enforced inaction. Asthe long minutes crawled by he writhed inwardly in the horror ofwaiting for the stinging impact of the feathered messengers of death,marshalled every resource of his will in his effort to appear casual,unafraid, confident of friendly reception.
Suddenly the silence of the night hills was broken by a weird soundthat rolled down from the heights. He listened, rigid, and realizedthat some one was striking a small agong. It came from the crest.Three times the faint resonance was carried down, the last notehumming long in the tunnel of forest and fading out in slow-dyingvibrations.
Listening, he noted a change in the forest about him. Minutes passed,and at last he realized that he was alone, the lurking figures hadbeen recalled. In the reaction fatigue came, and he wrapped himself inthe blanket and fell asleep.
At sunrise he was off again, climbing the mountain side, confidentthat the recall of his midnight visitors had ended all dangers. Thenight would see him at the summit.... APO!
But with the sense of personal security there came a deep apprehensionof what he would find at the end of his strange quest. His worry overthe fate of the friend for whom he had made this venture increasedwith every hour. As the day wore on he fell into a panic offoreboding, scarce noting that the forest had lost its sinisteraspects, had opened into a lovely wood of sun-splashed vistas brokenhere and there by great rugs of thick grass which tempered the beat ofthe afternoon sun striking through the openings above the frequentclearings.
Suddenly he stopped, sniffing to identify the odor that had rapped athis heedless nostrils for an hour. Disbelieving the testimony of hissense of smell he scanned the woods for visual evidence, for the firsttime taking in the quiet beauty of the scene. Finding the objects forwhich he searched he exclaimed aloud in his wonder.
"Pines! Pines! Sus-marie-hosep!"
He drank in the bracing spice of the rare atmosphere, glorying in theclear coolness of the altitude after the months of oppressive heat inthe lowlands.
"Real, honest-to-heaven pines--that puts me a clean mile above sealevel!"
Worry came again, and he turned to continue his ascent, but halted inmidstride as he discovered a form that stood, motionless, upon agrassy plot a few rods above him. A Hillman confronted him!
Evidently a young fighting man, of small stature but wonderfullydeveloped of shoulder and limb, full chested and round of barrel, hisbrown skin covered only with a red G-string, spear in hand, hereturned the Major's stare with a steady gaze of appraisal. For a longminute he remained poised, then beckoned to the Major to follow himand whirling with a flirt of his long black hair he led the way up theacclivity, bearing to the right of the course the Major had taken.
The Major turned his back to the savage while he reached into hisshirt to put his pistol at full cock and safe, then followed him. Theascent stiffened abruptly, then ended, so that they came out on awooded plateau a half-mile square in the center of which the crest ofthe mountain reared in a last upheave of perfect cone several hundredfeet high. Skirting the edge of the cone they emerged from the woodsand came to the border of a village.
The Major paused at the edge of the clearing, congratulating himselfupon the wonderful good fortune that had brought him safely among theHill People, and studying the village. A large number of crudethatched huts had been erected scatteringly at the bases of the treessurrounding the level clearing. Not a soul was in sight except theyoung warrior who had acted as his guide, who stood in front of ashack somewhat larger and better built than its neighbors.
As the Major stepped into the clearing he saw a figure appear at thedoor, and his sturdy heart lodged in his throat as he leaped forward.
It was Terry.
They met in the center of the clearing near the smoldering cookingfire, their hands gripping hard. Their eyes were moist with the reliefeach found in the other's safety. Both struggled for apt expression oftheir pentup emotions.
The Major found his tongue first.
"Well, it's fine air up here," he offered.
"Ayeh." Terry's grin was uncertain. "And there's so much of it!"
And they shook hands on it, complacently.
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