Part 4

It was indeed marvelous. Ganassi seemed to reign among the jungle folk as royally as any king. He chastised, praised, petted, and scolded; and one and all the beasts loved their wizened little master. Solemnly Ganassi went about his task. From his bosom he took a small object, smoothed, and caressed it. Piang trembled with excitement. Ganassi called each animal, and they responded to the beloved voice.

"Piang, my creatures approve my action. This is the sacred charm. One and all the animals have blessed it, and through your life, if you have faith, nothing will harm you." Piang's eyes darted around the strange circle, and, indeed, the animals accepted him as naturally as they did Ganassi.

"The time has come, Piang. The heavens have watched over you from babyhood, and you have proved your worth and bravery many times. I am ready to reward you. Come!"

Trembling, the boy advanced. Kneeling before the hermit, Piang clasped his hands and prayed that he might be worthy of the great honor about to be bestowed upon him. Gently the wise man laid his hands on Piang's head; softly he muttered a few words; then something dropped around the boy's neck.

"You may rise, Piang. You are now invincible!"

Bounding to his feet, Piang clasped the charm.

"I cannot see it, Ganassi. May I unclasp it to behold its beauty and splendor?" Keenly the old man looked into the face of the boy, measuring him, studying him.

"And if it is not beautiful, shiny, and bright, boy, what then?"

"Oh, but it must be, Ganassi! It is the most valuable thing in the world!"

"You may unclasp it, Piang."

Clumsily the boy fumbled with the fastenings; eagerly his eyes sought the charm. His face went blank; tears sprang to his eyes. He was holding a tiny gourd, no larger than a monkey-nut, suspended from a necklace of polished crocodile teeth. His disappointed eyes met Ganassi's, still studying him.

"Are you not satisfied, Piang? Are you then unworthy of the great honor bestowed upon you? Do you think that to be of value a thing must sparkle and shine?" Piang gathered himself, hid his disappointment, and bravely answered:

"I am satisfied."

"Shake the gourd, Piang."

A hollow rattle came from the immature growth, and Piang's face brightened.

"Its worth may be inside. Who knows? Only Ganassi, the wonder man, and he will tell no one." The keen old eyes twinkled as they watched Piang's face.

The mystery! It was again established, and Piang was happy. Maybe the precious stones were inside and some day would be revealed to him! As if reading his thoughts, Ganassi said:

"The charm must remain intact to wield its spell; if the gourd should ever be broken or stolen, both you and the charm lose the mystic power lately bestowed upon it. Piang, the source of power is faith! Believe, be honest, be true, and the world holds naught but joy for you and Kala Pandapatan's people."

A silence fell upon them all. The solemn words had sobered Piang, and he gazed into the eyes of the wise man.

"Begone, boy. The sun rises, and you have many miles to go. To-night I will light the signal fires and tell your tribe that you have come and gone, that Piang is charm boy of Kali Pandapatan's people forever."

FOURTH ADVENTURE

THE FIRE TREE

The velvety dusk of the jungle was pierced here and there by the brilliant, crimson buds of the fire-tree. For weeks all Moroland had waited for their coming, the heralds of the combat season. During the harvest time there is a truce in these turbulent islands, but when the crops have been gathered, the natives become restless and long to sally forth to conquer. The myth that victory comes only to the tribe whose fire-tree has bloomed is implicitly believed, and impatiently the Moros await this announcement of the combat season. Paying no heed to their capital city, Manila, these merry little isles revel in intrigue, and there is no sport in Moroland that can compare with the combat. Tribes go forth to conquer and enslave others; the men look forward to it as an opportunity to prove their prowess; the women thrill at the possibility of capture. True, they may become the slaves of some unscrupulous dato, but there is always the romantic chance that they may fall into the hands of the hero of their dreams and become the favorite of his seraglio.

"Where is Piang?" Dato Kali Pandapatan addressed a copper-colored slave who salaamed and replied:

"In the jungle, O most high one, searching for the blooming fire branch."

"It is well." Kali Pandapatan, with folded arms, paused in the doorway of his hut, watching expectantly the only opening into the frowning jungle.

"He comes! He comes!" rippled through the barrio.

The eager inhabitants gathered to learn if the time was yet ripe. Into their midst ran a slim, bronze lad, waving above his head a branch, almost bare of green, but aflame with crimson blossoms. There was a hush. Women gathered their children to them; men grasped their weapons more firmly, and the young boys looked with longing eyes at the fortunate Piang.

"_Ooola!_" exclaimed Piang. Every lip repeated the word; every knee was bent, and the tribe lay prostrate at his feet; only old Kali Pandapatan remained standing, eyeing Piang with satisfaction. For a full two minutes the crowd remained motionless. The palm-trees whispered and crackled above them, and the river sent a soft accompaniment to the jungle music. To and fro above their heads Piang majestically waved the branch, until finally one bold voice demanded:

"_Anting-anting!_" ("The charm, the charm!") Piang defiantly bared his breast, exposing the sacred charm suspended from his necklace of crocodile teeth. There was moaning in the crowd, sobs of excitement, and protests of impatience, but every head remained lowered until the august relic was again covered. Piang began to chant in a high, nasal voice, and the others rose and joined in creating a weird, monotonous drawl. Like a statue stood the boy, holding the branch high above his head while they circled round and round him. Faster, faster they whirled; in a frenzy they shrieked; some fell and others tramped them in their excitement. Suddenly the boy stamped his feet, uttering a sharp cry. Every eye turned toward him.

"To the river!" he cried and lead the way. Two boys hurried forward and were on their knees in a twinkling, hollowing out a place in the sand, dog fashion. With many incantations and prayers, the branch was planted in the hole, the damp sand laid carefully around the base, and the two proud boys left to watch. If the flowers of the fire tree faded before the scorching sun set, it was destined that the tribe would be unsuccessful in its ventures for the season; should the blooms defy the rays of the sun until the dews of evening rested on its petals, old Kali Pandapatan could sally forth unafraid to meet his fierce brothers of the jungle.

Patiently they waited through the long, hot day; many eyes were anxiously turned toward the sacred emblem, but none dared approach. The little Moro boys, in whose care the branch had been left, squatted in silent patience. No butterfly was suffered to light on the delicate petals, no droning bee allowed to gather the honey of its cups. On dragged the sweltering afternoon. Piang and the dato were the only ones allowed to know that the branch was still fresh, but only Piang knew that its flowers had been dipped into a cool stream before it came to the tribe to foretell its victories or defeats.

"Allah, il Allah!" the call rang through the village. Sunset, the hour of prayer! Now, now they would know. Solemnly old Pandita Asin led the chant while the Moros prostrated themselves in supplication, and the dying sun slipped over the mountains, touching every tree and flower with its gold.

There was great feasting and celebration in the barrio that night. Women donned their most brilliant sarongs, tinted their silver-tipped finger nails with henna, and streaked their brows with splotches of white rice paste. The men twisted their hair up in gorgeous head-cloths, and the knot bristled with creeses. Suspended from their many-colored sashes were barongs, campilans or bolos, and tiny bells were fastened into the lobes of their ears. The brilliantly striped breeches seemed likely to burst, so tightly were they drawn over shapely limbs.

The branch had not withered. It had withstood the scorching rays of the sun. Kali Pandapatan was invincible.

"Piang!" called Kali Pandapatan.

The noises of the barrio were hushed. Their dato had spoken. The name was repeated, and gradually the call reached the charm boy, idly dangling his feet in a clear brook, attracting and scattering the curious fish. He sprang to his feet, listened, and darted off. His sleek, well fashioned limbs glistened in the sunlight, and the sarong that was gracefully flung over one shoulder floated out behind like a flame fanned by the wind. Twined in his long black hair was a wreath of scarlet fire flowers; every face brightened as he fled past.

"You have again brought the sign, Piang. When do we fight?" asked Kali Pandapatan.

"Not until we have delivered the _siwaka_ (tribute) to the sultan at Cotabato. The fire-tree has not yet bloomed in the enemy's country, and we may yet pass through safely," Piang replied.

"You have spoken," said the dato and laid his palms on the youth's head.

Though the latent passion of battle stirred in the Moros' breasts, they were compelled to heed. Piang had proved a wise charm boy, and the tribe must obey him. Each season the siwaka must be carried over the steep, treacherous trail down to the coast, and those detailed to accompany the slaves who carried the bags of rice and _comoties_ (sweet-potatoes), dreaded the trip. Added to the pitfalls of the obscure trail, were hostile territories to be traversed, and if the enemies' fire-tree had bloomed, they would surely be attacked and probably despoiled of their cargo.

"We will need warriors to guard the siwaka, chief," Piang reminded Kali, and the chief nodded and gave a quiet order. Every man disappeared from the streets. When they returned, in place of the gaudy, tight trousers, they were wearing loose, black pantaloons, the garb of battle. The women, true to the feminine nature, wailed and cried aloud, but in their hearts they, too, were glad that the quiet, monotonous days were over, and that before nightfall they might sleep in some strange cota (fort), slave or wife of the victorious dato.

"Piang," murmured a soft voice at the charm boy's elbow, and he turned to find the little slave girl, Papita, timidly looking up at him.

"_Chiquita?_" ("Little one?") he questioned.

"Sicto goes with you. Beware of him, for he would kill you!"

"I am not afraid," proudly answered Piang, "but why would Sicto kill me?"

Solemnly the little girl touched Piang's breast where lay hidden the sacred charm.

"He would kill you so that he might be charm boy of the tribe," whispered the girl. Piang laughed gaily, patted his little friend on the arm, and bounded to the head of the forming column. Nevertheless he noticed Sicto's sly, surly glance as the slaves and warriors bent before him.

Amid beating of tom-toms, wails of women, and howls of dogs, the column, single file, dipped into the jungle and was lost to sight.

Anxiously Piang watched for signs of the fire-tree as they slipped along through the enemies' country, but as yet the buds had not stirred, and he was thankful that the warm rains had not come to coax them into glow. That whole day the party toiled silently through the dense cogon grass that covered the mesa. High above their heads waved the wiry, straw-colored spines. Its sharp edges cut into the flesh, tore through cloths, stinging and paining old wounds. Not a breath of air reached them through the impenetrable mass, and the sun beat down on them mercilessly. For long stretches the path tunneled through the grass, boring deeper into the tangle, and they were almost suffocated by the choking dust that stung their nostrils.

"_Iki!_" ("Beware!") called Sicto. Every bolo was out, every savage ready, but the word was passed along the line that the leader, Sicto, had stepped on a snake. Entirely surrounded by the cruel grass the column paused. The heat, increased by the oven-like tunnel grew steadily worse, and those in the rear gasped and fought for breath. They could hear the scuffle as the leaders fought the reptile, and the fetid odor of the dread creature added to their discomfort. Sicto had been swinging along ahead, stepping lightly on the mattress-like turf, when he felt something move under his foot. It was well under the matted grass, but it was wise to despatch the creature if possible. Piang came to his assistance, and the snake, probably gorged with rotting meat, exuded a terrible odor as it was stabbed to death. Kicking the wriggling remains out of the path the column pushed on, wondering if they would ever come to the end of the stifling tunnel.

"Will it rain soon, Piang?" panted Tooloowee, as he toiled along behind the charm boy.

"I cannot tell yet, but by sunset we shall know."

Toward evening the grass thinned perceptibly, and the steaming, aching bodies felt the cool air rustling through the stalks.

"We are near the jungle; soon we shall be cool," sighed Kali Pandapatan. Yes, it was growing cooler; they could breathe again, but Piang knew that before morning they would be shivering with cold, that the rain would come in the night. He smelled it, the rain that would not come to help them through the arduous day.

When it came, there was a shout of joy. Kali looked anxiously at his sweating tribesmen. After the terrific heat of the day, this rain would chill them, and fever would surely follow; he must keep them on the move. There was a murmur of protest as the order was given to move; they had rested a scant two hours. By nine o'clock they were under way again, struggling with the jungle as they had fought the mesa. The downpour was straight and steady. It burrowed through the thick foliage and ran down the tree trunks in torrents. The footing became uncertain, and Piang warned Kali to look out for broken limbs. For many yards the path lay along fallen tree trunks, slippery with moss and mold. The footing became so treacherous that the order was given to crawl on all fours, and the progress was painfully slow and tedious. Frequently they strayed from the path and were forced to halt. The torches at the head of the column twinkled and flickered fitfully, but they only seemed to make the darkness more visible; they sputtered and flared, but the flames resisted the rain, and to the weary Moros they seemed like good spirits sent to guide them through the terrible jungle night.

Palm leaves, strewn in the path, had long clusters of needle-like spines at their bases that pierced their feet, and the cry "_tinick!_" ("thorns!") rang out frequently through the night. Finally it became necessary to march close up, in solid line, each man with his hand on the shoulder of the man in front. When the leader warned "_Cajui!_" ("Log!"), each repeated it as he stumbled over the obstacle, and if one fell, half the line would be bowled over.

"_Tubig Malakee!_" cried Piang. ("The big water!") Yes, the dull murmur of the river was plainly heard through the dripping rain, and they all quickened their pace in the desire to rid themselves of the jungle. Piang attempted to guide them across, but he walked into the water and sank from sight, and there was a cry of horror, for it seemed that one of the many crocodiles had dragged him under. When he came up sputtering and splashing, none the worse for his dip, he chided them for their little faith and pointed significantly to his charm. He had miscalculated in the blackness of the night and could not locate the ford. A drizzling rain was still falling; great hairy-legged spiders skated over the water, making things grewsome; the large lily-pad leaves moved suspiciously, so Kali gave the orders to camp for the rest of the night.

Silently the Moros prepared their camp. Deftly the ends of low-lying branches were pinioned to the ground with forked sticks; over these supports hemp and banana leaves were strewn to shield the sleepers from the heavy dew and rain. After many attempts a fire was coaxed into life, much to the dismay of the jungle folk. A beautiful golden fly-catcher, probably mistaking the glare of the fire for dawn, awoke and began to sing at the top of its tiny voice; a parrot screamed lustily. A venerable old monkey, sleepily rubbing its eyes, shook its fist, muttering profanely. Sicto, exasperated at the persistent maledictions, raised his bow.

"Do not kill the monkey, Sicto," warned Piang. "It is not good to kill in the jungle except for food or self-protection!"

A scowl was the only reply, but the big mestizo lowered his bow and turned over on his bed of leaves.

"Kali, we are no longer safe," Piang whispered as he crouched over the improvised bed of his chief.

"Sssshhhh," he warned, finger on lip. "Do not wake the others." Then he pointed toward a spot where hoards of fireflies clustered around one tree, twinkling and swerving to and fro. It was a beautiful sight, but far from a novel one to these two.

"The fire-tree!" muttered Kali.

"Yes," answered Piang. "The rain has brought the blooms to the valley, and we will be attacked to-morrow!" Silently they gazed at the strange tree. Fireflies abandon every tree and shrub for the fire-tree the moment it puts forth its buds, and nothing can coax them away until the ominous scarlet blossoms have drooped and fallen to the ground.

"We dare not cross the river now, Kali," said Piang, "but we can build rafts and float down to Cotabato."

And so it was decided. Early in the muggy dawn the warriors set to work constructing rafts out of bamboo and ratan (palm), and soon the siwaka was loaded and the journey continued by water.

Arrogantly Piang rode at the head of the procession, his proud little head crowned with a wreath of fire-tree blooms, the corners of his raft decorated with sprigs of the flaming buds. Cautiously they poled down the swift stream, avoiding treacherous logs and snapping crocodiles. Piang chuckled with delight as they stole along, for the enemy would not discover the ruse until they were far away.

It was some time before Sicto was missed. His name was passed from raft to raft, but none had seen him that morning. At first it was feared that one of the crocodiles had pulled him from a raft, but something seemed to tell Piang that the wily half-breed had stolen away to warn the enemy of Kali's strategy. Once the news of the rich booty to be captured and the prisoners to be taken had reached the valley people, nothing could keep them from pursuing, now that their fire-tree had bloomed. A solemn conclave was held.

The river is almost inaccessible from the jungle except at one point, the Big Bend. This is a favorite camping-ground of the valley people during the combat season; here their sacrifices are offered, their victims thrown to the crocodiles; they exercise full control of the river. If Sicto succeeded in warning the enemy before Kali reached that point there would be little hope of escape. Another force would surely be posted where he had embarked, cutting Kali off from his reinforcements at home. It was too late to attempt a retreat, however, hampered as they were with the cumbersome siwaka. Reach that bend first, they must.

"The charm, Piang," whispered Kali. Springing to his feet, the boy uttered a fierce "Oola." Every head bowed, and the sacred talisman was exposed.

"Forward, brothers!" he cried. "Forward with all your strength!"

The sun came out, and the dripping jungle began to steam. Palm leaves were constructed into hats to guard against sunstroke. Toward sunset they drew near the danger point. What was that monotonous sound dully vibrating through the jungle? Anxiously all eyes turned toward Piang.

"It is well, brothers," bravely comforted the boy. "Yes, that is the tom-tom of your enemy. Sicto has betrayed us, but have no fear. Piang, the charm boy leads you; take courage, and Allah, the Merciful, will give you victory." Piang commenced a murmur of prayer, and the Moros, joining in, filled the fast-settling night with whispered invocations which drifted off through the jungle.

Another council of war was held.

"Piang, if they have had time to lay the boom, what shall we do?"

"Go forward, Kali. Fight your way through the blockade," answered the charm boy. "I will remain here with a few men to guard to siwaka. Do you hide at the first bend until the moon gives you light, then strike!"

The astonished warriors looked with misgiving from one to the other, but Kali answered firmly:

"It shall be so, Piang."

The Moros were quickly assembled for the advance, and Kali paused by the side of Piang's raft:

"If we are driven back, Piang, I will give three calls of the mina-bird. Answer likewise and retreat as quickly as possible."

"Forward, Kali Pandapatan," answered Piang with great dignity. "We will not retreat."

Like ghosts in the night the little handful of men parted from their fellows and courageously faced the river and its dangers. The stream, swerving to the left, flows on to the apex of the Big Bend. As if regretting its departure from the true course, it doubles back and returns to take up its original direction at a point separated from its first departure by only a few rods. Between the two points is a waste of murky soil and sand, covered by dense growths of the jungle's choicest variety of obstacles. Gloomily Piang contemplated the morass that lay between him and freedom. Long he sat, looking into the distance where he could almost see the river as it completed the curve and swept on to the ocean. What would he not give to be safely on the other side? Suddenly he sat up very straight. Why not? The sand was soft, the current swift. If he could only make a narrow ditch across the flats. Pulling his raft up to the right side of the river, he jumped to the bank, but when he sank ankle-deep in the soft, sticky earth, he climbed hastily back. Poling along he searched for a solid footing, but everywhere the marshy soil gave, and he abandoned his attempts to land. The night grew deeper, blacker.

"Why not, why not?" he whispered again. The others came scurrying up in response to his excited call.

"My brothers, Allah has sent me wisdom," he announced. "It is your duty to obey me!" Eagerly they listened, glad of any distraction, but when Piang explained that he wanted them to abandon their safe bamboo floats for the treacherous flats, home of crocodiles and vermin, there was a murmuring protest. Anger blazed in Piang's eyes.