Part 7

Asin, who had been curiously watching Piang for some time, rushed toward him and caught the fainting boy in his arms.

Quietly Piang gave his orders; unquestioningly he was obeyed. After his mishap he had not regained consciousness for two days, and during his illness he had prated senselessly about trees that were alive and vines that had eyes, much to the disturbance of Kali Pandapatan and Asin. But when he whispered his suspicions to his chief, Kali gave a low whistle.

Asin and Tooloowee were taken into the secret, and they set to work to develop Piang's plan. A wild boar, which had been captured for crocodile bait, was fastened to a pole in the middle of the _campong_ (clearing). Around it was built a bamboo pen, opened at one end, from which extended a low, fenced-in lane about forty feet long. Arranged in this lane, at intervals, were slip nooses of ratan, which, rising above the structure, looked like skeleton arches.

Impatiently the Moros waited for night; fearfully they watched the mango-tree. There was no tom-tom serenade such as usually heralds the coming of night; no fires were lighted; the evening meal was forgotten. An ominous silence pervaded the barrio.

Night came--soft, fragrant night, with its thousand wonders. The inquisitive moon peeped over the palm fronds, peeped again, and decided to remain. Papita, her anklets and bangles clinking dully, moved listlessly about, sorrowing for her lost pet; Sicto followed her persistently, annoying her with his attentions. The sulky mestizo took pleasure in provoking the little girl, for was she not Piang's favorite, and was not Piang his enemy? He moodily contemplated the charm boy at work on the silly-looking structure that he was not allowed to approach.

When it was finished, Kali Pandapatan ordered every one to go to their homes, to lock and bar the doors, and, under pain of his displeasure, to make no sound. The death-like stillness was fraught with tension. From the window in the nearest house, Piang kept watch with Kali, Asin, and Tooloowee; in his hand he held the ratan cable that controlled the nooses in the narrow lane. Minutes, hours trailed by, and still the barrio watched. A gentle wind awakened the forest whispers and gathered its freight of seed and pollen to scatter abroad. The prisoner in the deserted campong protested and struggled, its ugly grunts disturbing the jungle peace. Dull clouds obscured the moon, and for a long time the barrio was in darkness. When the light burst suddenly upon them, the Moros started from their drowsiness and gazed with awe on the swaying, shuddering mango-tree. Not a leaf was stirring on the surrounding trees, but the mango rustled and trembled ominously.

"See, Kali! I was right!" whispered Piang. No superstitious horror pervaded the hut where the four men watched, but in every other house Moros fell upon their faces, beseeching Allah to protect them from Bal-Bal. The capricious moon plunged into a shadowy cloud again. The next flood of light disclosed a vision so horrible that even Kali and his brave followers stiffened with fear. Out of the mango-tree a black, writhing mass crept toward the terrified squealing boar. Unfolding length after length, the thing advanced, until nearly thirty feet of sinuous, undulating life stretched between the mango tree and the boar's cage. Papita, sickened with fear, buried her face in her mother's bosom, weeping hysterically; Sicto, pale and trembling, grasped the window for support.

"_Ular-Sawa!_" ("Giant python!") he gasped, hastily closing the window. A little captive monkey whined pitifully.

The massive creature, distracted by the sound, paused, head up, forked tongue darting in and out of the open jaws, for the Regal Python has no ears, but hears with its tongue. That delicate nerve center registers sounds by vibration, and when a python is eager to listen, it extends its black, forked tongue.

"Oh, will it go into the trap?" breathed Piang. The boar, watching its fate, squealed, and the python advanced. Missing the easy lane, it approached the cage from the side, and tried to batter it down with its powerful head. Failing in this, it attempted to slip over the fence, but the pickets had been sharpened to prevent this, and finally it discovered the opening.

Seeming to disapprove of the symmetrical structure, it hesitated to thrust its enormous length into the strange-looking thing. The Moros were fearful lest the creature escape and continue to overshadow their barrio. Once the python seemed about to retreat, but at that moment the boar struggled so desperately that the python's natural instinct prevailed, and without a moment's hesitation, it writhed into the lane, past the first loop, past the second, until it reached the cage.

"Now, Piang, now!" softly whispered Kali. Calculating the distance, Piang jerked the ratan cable, and the noose tightened around the snake's throat.

In a moment the fence was lashed to pieces, and the pickets were flying about like so many chips, as the serpent fought and struggled. Piang and his helpers secured the cable to a post and rushed into the campong. Catching hold of the other cables, they pulled them tighter and tighter until the snake was unable to move.

The clouds were heavy and the moon shone fitfully.

"Torches!" yelled Kali, and the women scurried about in search of them. Piang and Tooloowee cautiously approached the monster's head, holding on a stick some cotton soaked with poison. Savagely the python bit at the extended stick, and the cotton caught on the long recurved teeth. Try as it would, it could not get rid of its mouthful. The Moros congratulated themselves, thinking the danger past, little knowing what the fatal consequences would be. Under the stimulus of the poison the python began to expand, until the loops of ratan creaked and snapped. The snake did not plunge or struggle, but quietly, steadily pulled. That python broke green ratan thongs half an inch in diameter, and soon twisted out of all its fastenings except the one about its neck. Catching hold of the mango-tree with its tail, it pulled until its eyes bulged from the sockets, but the ratan held. Releasing its hold on the tree, it flopped about the campong, pulling and straining at the cable.

Finally it lay perfectly still, its dull, lidless eyes rolling upward. Without any warning, its lithe tail shot outward, swept the crowd of bystanders, and those fatal, living rings closed around Sicto, compressing the unfortunate boy with such force that he gasped for breath. Without a thought for the helpless boy, the women dropped the torches and fled screaming through the night, leaving the campong in darkness.

Only Piang came to the none too popular mestizo's assistance. He hurled himself at the reptile's head, campilan raised to strike, but instead of falling upon the mark, his knife severed the one remaining cable and set the monster free. Perceiving its new antagonist, and feeling its freedom, the snake rapidly unwound its tail from Sicto, who fell to the ground with a dull thud. Darting forward with lightening rapidity, it caught Piang in its circular embrace, and, coiling its tail around the tree, flattened the boy against it, as if in a mill. Tighter, closer hugged those massive, chilling rings, but Piang fought bravely.

"A light! a light!" screamed Tooloowee, as he dragged the insensible Sicto away, and, out of a nearby hut dashed a slender, graceful figure in response to the call, a fresh torch streaming its smoke and sparks around her head.

"Quick, Papita," urged Tooloowee, and the girl came fearlessly to the aid of Piang.

"Piang!" she wailed. "Why didn't you let it have Sicto!" Her voice seemed to put new life into the suffocating boy. With one supreme effort Piang managed to loosen his arm and struck once, twice. The python, now bleeding profusely, hissed and writhed, still tightening around the boy. Once again Piang thrust, at last reaching the creature's heart. The rings loosened, relaxed, and Tooloowee's well-aimed blow severed the awful head, which bounced and rolled to Papita's feet.

When they carried the limp, lacerated body of Piang to his hut, there was lamenting and weeping in the barrio. Piang, their beloved charm boy was dead. A mournful _tilick_ (death signal) was sounded on the tom-toms, and the wail soon gathered volume until the jungle and river seemed to take up the plaint.

Dead? Could Piang, the invincible, be killed? Papita crouched in the doorway. Kali Pandapatan bent over the still little form. Anxiously he watched the eyelids quiver, the lips part. A sigh of relief broke from the chief, and he murmured softly:

"Little brother, you have the strength of a packda; the cunning of the civet-cat, and the wisdom of the mina-bird. May your days be long."

A knowing smile flitted across Kali's face as he caught the irrelevant reply:

"Papita--is she safe?"

SEVENTH ADVENTURE

THE SECRET OF THE SOURCE

There had been a great drought. Plague was sure to follow such weather, and the Moros were already dying of starvation. "Rice, rice!" was the cry, but everywhere the crop had failed, and the natives were desperate.

Piang had been more successful in foraging than the other lads had, and his mother was safe for a time, but there seemed to be no hope, and he sorrowed as he pictured her dying for want of the food that it was his business to provide for her.

In the stifling heat of midday, the village was startled by the appearance of several white men on the biggest animals they had ever seen. Tiny ponies, straying about the village, fled to cover at sight of the strange creatures, and most of the women hid themselves in fright. The Moro men sullenly watched the strangers advance, making no attempt to stop them, but there was no mistaking their hostile attitude.

"Where is the dato?" asked the interpreter, who rode in ahead of the men. There was no answer.

"Come, where is the chief? The white men bring good news; they bring food."

Instantly there was a change. Kali Pandapatan stepped in front of the others and said in his musical patois:

"I am Dato Kali Pandapatan. Speak. Do not deceive us."

A lengthy conversation followed, and while the two men were arguing and gesticulating, the strangers gradually coaxed some of the children toward them. Finally the women sidled nearer, and soon the entire population had hedged the little company in, and were gazing with awe at the huge American horses with their odd trappings. One mare stamped her foot and neighed loudly, scattering the spectators in every direction, greatly to the amusement of the white men.

It was all very hard for the dato to understand. He explained to his people that some great power had sent the white men to save them from starvation. The interpreter had told him that the Moros all belonged now to some nation called the United States. A fierce murmur rippled through the crowd at this piece of news. The dato raised his hand for quiet.

"Let us hear them through. We are hungry; let them feed us. We will fight for our freedom later, if necessary."

Haughtily Dato Kali Pandapatan faced the newcomers and bade them speak. The interpreter explained that the men were United States soldiers, and that their chief had commanded them to search the islands for starving Moros and to relieve their suffering. The crafty dato pondered long before he accepted their offer, all the while watching for an attack. It was impossible for him to believe their generosity could be genuine, so used was he to the treachery of Spanish strangers. When the pack-train loaded with supplies appeared at the head of the steep mountain pass, a cry went up from the hungry people, and a rush was made toward it. When the supplies had been portioned out to each family, and suspicion banished from the minds of the natives, the "Americanos" were hailed as their saviors. Lieutenant Lewis, in charge of the expedition, was offered every courtesy, and the soldiers were showered with gifts of brass and trinkets. Dato Kali Pandapatan vowed his allegiance to the soldiers and offered the services of his tribe.

"Ask the dato if he has heard of the mysterious rice that has been found on Lake Lanao, Ricardo," said Lieutenant Lewis.

The interpreter addressed the dato and learned that it was a well known fact that rice had appeared on the surface of the lake from no apparent source. As it had never been grown in that district, the authorities were puzzled over the persistent rumors. If it could be cultivated there, it might be possible to supply the tribes with enough to avoid these frequent famines.

"He says he is not sure, sir, but travelers from that section all bring the same tales of gathering rice in an eddy at one corner of the lake. The tribes are very fierce around there, and as they will not tolerate interference from strangers, no one has dared to investigate."

"I can easily believe it. General Bushing's expedition through that country met with fearful opposition. It's a wonder to me that so many of them came out alive." The lieutenant was silent for a time, then said:

"Ask him if he has a swift runner, some one that he can trust."

Ricardo questioned the chief.

"Yes, sir, he says there is a boy named Piang, who is fleeter than the wind, surer than the sun."

"Ask him if he will send this boy for me to the lake to search out the truth about this rice. Offer him fifty bushels of corn for the lad's family and tell him I will send him twenty-five bushels whether he is successful or not."

"Piang! Piang!" the name was on every one's lips. From out the crowd stepped a slender faun of a youth, slim and supple as a reed. The gaily-colored breech-cloth wound about his loins supported his bolo and small knives, and in his tightly knotted long hair, glistened a creese. With silent dignity he awaited his orders. No curiosity manifested itself in his face; no question was on his lips; he simply waited. Lieutenant Lewis marveled at the boy's indifference, but when the mission was explained to Piang, the light that sparkled in his eyes and the expressions of excitement and joy that chased each other across his face removed all doubt from the lieutenant's mind.

Piang was chosen! Piang was to ferret out the secret of the lake! Piang was to bring honor to his tribe! When it was explained to him that his mother would be provided for, he abruptly turned from the dato and dashed off to his hut to procure weapons and scanty provisions. A silence held the natives as they waited for Piang to reappear. They all seemed to sense the dangers that were confronting the boy so eager to undertake the task. Hardly ten minutes had elapsed before he was in their midst again. He salaamed before the dato and, without a glance at the others, bounded up the trail, away into the jungle.

"But," protested the lieutenant, "no one has given him any orders, any directions." The interpreter conveyed the American's misgivings to the dato. A smile broke over his face.

"Piang needs no directions, no advice. No jungle is too thick for him to penetrate, no water deep enough to hide its secrets from him. Piang will bring you news of the rice. I have spoken."

"And to think of the fuss it takes to get a few dough-boys ready for a hike!" exclaimed the amazed lieutenant.

The jungle was terrible. Everywhere Piang came across victims of the drought. Little monkeys, huddled together, cried like babies; big birds, perched on the sun-scorched trees, were motionless. He stumbled over something soft. Always on the alert, his bolo was ready in an instant, but there was no need for it. He looked down into the dying eyes of a little musk-deer. Pity and misgiving filled his heart, and he wondered if he would be able to reach the Big Pass before he starved. Surely, up there it would be different; they always had rain, and if he could only hold out.... A snuff-like dust constantly rose from the decayed vegetation; it pained his nostrils, and he muffled his face in his head-cloth as he penetrated deeper into the jungle. He must reach a clearing before night; it would mean almost certain death to sleep in the jungle's poisonous atmosphere. There was a good spot further up, and he worked his way toward it, determined to reach it for his first night. The liana-vine that he cut for water was dry. He listened for the trickle of a brook. The jungle is usually full of little streams, but no sound rewarded his vigilance. Stumbling along, he began to think his journey would end there, when he was startled by loud chattering. A monkey settlement was evidently near, and he knew by their liveliness that they were not famishing for water. Spurred on by hope, he redoubled his efforts and was rewarded by the sight of a cocoanut grove in a clearing.

There was a general protest from the inhabitants as he made his appearance, but he paid no attention to the monkey insults hurled at him and gratefully picked up the cocoanuts with which they bombarded him. Shaking each one, he tossed it from him. They were all dry. The monkeys were too clever to waste any nuts that had milk in them. Piang tied his feet together loosely with his head-cloth, and, using it as a brace, hopped up one of the trees as easily as a monkey. Sitting in the branches, he drained one cocoanut after another, and when his thirst was slaked, he amused himself by returning the bombardment. He was surrounded by monkey snipers and he laughingly rubbed his head where one of their shots had struck home. With careful aim he showered the trees, and gradually the monkeys began to disperse. He had won; the fun was over. He watched them scold and fuss as they retreated into the jungle, regretting that he had not kept them with him a little longer for company.

The big sun was dipping into the trees now, and he descended to gather material for his bed. High up in the cocoanut-tree Piang built his couch. He selected two trees that were close together, and, cutting strips of ratan, bound stalks of bamboo together making a platform which he lashed to the trees, far out of reach of night prowlers. He dipped into his scanty provisions, and then, scrambling to his nest, covered himself with palm branches, which afford warmth as well as protection from the unhealthy dew. Quickly Piang sank into an untroubled slumber. All night long creatures fought below him for the few remaining drops of moisture in the discarded shells, but he knew that he was safe, and their snarls and bickerings did not alarm him.

Piang started guiltily. He must have overslept. The sun was high, but for some reason the heat had not awakened him. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, sniffed the air, and uttered a shout of joy. A gentle rain was trickling through the foliage; the spell was broken; the jungle would live again. After hastily gathering a few nuts he climbed down the tree and prepared for his journey, thankful that the drought was to be broken by the gentle "liquid sunshine," as it is called, instead of by a violent typhoon. Eating what he wanted of the soft, green cocoanut meat, he tied two nuts to the ends of a ratan strip, and, slinging them across his shoulder, was off again, darting here and there to avoid the stinging vines and treacherous pitfalls.

How many days was he from Lake Lanao? He counted the suns that must rise and set before he should arrive. There were four, if he should be fortunate enough to find the Ganassi trail. Piang had not lost time by returning to the coast to pick up the trail, but had trusted to his instinct to lead him aright. Surely, if he followed the sun by day, and the big bright evening star by night, he would come upon the trail the second day. He must avoid the lake people at all costs; they were not to be trusted, and his life would pay the penalty if they caught him spying. Silently the jungle child sped along. Nothing escaped his watchful eye; no sound eluded his trained ear. Once he darted aside just in time to escape the toils of the dread python as it swooped from above to claim its victim. Another time his bolo saved him, and a wild civet-cat lay at his feet. Chuckling at his prowess, Piang drew his knife across the animal's belly, and slipped off the skin, almost whole. It would be useful to him, and maybe he could find the herb that is used to cure pelts.

It was very difficult traveling. The sun was not visible during the afternoon, and Piang lost his direction. Blundering here and there, he often came back to the same place. It was no use; he could not find the trail without the assistance of sun or stars. Sometimes it was days before either could penetrate the dense mist that accompanies the tropical rains. Discouraged, he threw himself on the ground.

An unusual sound made him jerk his head up to listen. It came again, and the boy rose quietly to his feet, focusing his senses on the sound. Cautiously he advanced toward it. In the jungle it is always wiser to be the one to attack. The sound was repeated, and Piang breathed easier. It was made by an animal, not by his dread lake enemies. Gradually he crept nearer and when he parted the bushes and peeped through, he almost shouted in his excitement. He had reached the Big Pass. A broad river swept rapidly by, and along the banks wild carabao rolled and splashed, making queer diminutive sounds, not in keeping with their ungainly size. Piang was careful to keep out of sight, as they are apt to be dangerous when their very uncertain nerves are startled.

For more than two days Piang fought his way through the entanglement of cogon grass and vicious vines, cutting and hewing his way, afraid to cross the river and follow the Ganassi trail. Finally, one rosy dawn, he came upon the lake as it sparkled and shimmered in the early light. The boy held his breath, delighted with the beauty of the view. Far in the distance mountains rose in a blue and purple haze. The lake was nestled in the heart of them, fed by many clear brooks and springs. Its bed had once been the crater of an active volcano, but Piang did not know this.

From his retreat, built high among the dense trees, Piang watched the lake people ply their way to and fro across the water. Somewhere on that lake was the secret of the floating rice, and the boy was determined to discover the truth. He hid before dawn at the water's edge near a spot that he had noticed was much frequented. As usual, a swarm of natives visited it about noon. Piang watched them dip up gourds and cocoanut-shell cups full of water. They strained it through cloths, repeating and repeating the action. He was sure it was the coveted rice that they were gathering and he impatiently waited for them to go; no sooner had they departed, however, than others arrived to take up the task. There was nothing to do, but wait again for dawn, and Piang wriggled himself back to his grove and mounted his platform home.