Third Adventure

Third AdventureThe Hermit of Ganassi PeakThe silence was oppressive. Piang stumbled along through the tangle of vines and weeds, tired and foot-sore. Would he never find the path to the peak? And was there really a mysterious old man who had lived up there for over a hundred years? Sicto was somewhere on that mountain, striving to reach the summit too, and the pandita had said that the boy who arrived first, was the real charm boy. They had both started from thebarrio(village) the same day; Sicto had plunged into the jungle, while Piang had chosen the river and lake. He shuddered at the recollection of his many narrow escapes during the journey. Where was his enemy, Sicto, now? Had he found an easier route, and was he already with old Ganassi, receiving the rites of charm boy?Unfamiliar with the vegetation on the mountain,Piang was afraid to touch the many strange fruits, so he contented himself with bananas and cocoanuts, and for water he drank dew from the enormous pitcher-plants. The jungle was thick, and it was difficult to decide in what direction to go, so Piang had to climb trees to get his bearings. One day just as he was starting up a tall tree, he was startled by a sound. Something was crashing through the bushes below him. Visions of terrible mountain animals flashed through his head, and he hastily scrambled up the tree. On came the creature, now pausing a moment, now plunging into the mesh of vines, tearing them asunder, always following the path Piang had made. Preparing himself for some strange beast, the boy drew bow and waited. Suddenly he started. A cold chill gripped him. That sound! It was a voice—Sicto’s! Crouching against the tree, Piang hoped to escape detection, but just as Sicto passed beneath the tree, Piang’s bow slipped and fell to the ground. Sicto jumped aside and looked up:“Oh, ho, my pretty Piang! So I’ve got you, have I?” The bully started up the tree.Like a flash Piang was away. As easily as any monkey he swung himself into the next tree, and before Sicto realized it, Piang was taunting him from the very top of a far-off tree. More agile and much smaller than Sicto, Piang could easily travel in this way, and after a few unsuccessful attempts to follow, Sicto jumped to the ground. Slyly making his way along on foot, Sicto watched his rival. When Piang thought he had outdistanced his pursuer, he slipped to the ground and started off.“Lēēēēēē lèlèlèlè ouiiiit!” The war-cry rang through the jungle, and Piang knew that his life depended on his fleet-footedness. Over fallen tree trunks, through dense cogon grass, Piang fled. His feet were pierced by wicked thorns, and everything he touched seemed to throw out a defense against him. Bamboo caught at his clothing and held him prisoner;bajucavines clutched his weapons, hurling him to the ground. Sicto was gaining on him. After poor Piang had made the path through the jungle, it was easy enough for Sicto to follow.On, up, fled the boy. He came to a clearingthrough which a mountain stream was bubbling. The sun beat down; the stifling heat rising from rotting vegetation took his breath away, but Piang ran on. What was that black hole yawning in the mountain side? With a gasp, Piang realized he was at the mouth of the haunted cave.The brook, flowing swiftly down the mountain, plunged into the cave and disappeared, to come to the surface about two miles away. It was the home of the most terrible reptiles and animals, and the souls of wicked people waited there for Judgment Day.Piang scanned the precipitous cliffs, the impenetrable jungle, in search of an avenue of escape. He was trapped. A gloating cry from Sicto decided him. Sicto was a coward and would be afraid to follow him, so Piang ran toward the cave. Had not the pandita said that Ganassi would be with the real charm boy, and was not Piang sure of that protection? Who but Piang was the charm boy?Piang’s courage began to flag, however, as he caught the cold, damp odor from the cave, but he bravely plunged into the forbidding-lookingcavern. Man had probably never set foot in that place before. Creeping along, he peered into the increasing darkness, but could see nothing. A shriek startled him, and the sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Sicto had started to follow Piang, but just as he came to the opening, a huge python slipped across the mouth of the cave, waving its enormous head from side to side. Sicto, trembling with fear, retreated into the jungle, and as Piang saw him disappear, he longed to be out again, fighting Sicto, anything, rather than penned up in the cave with that frightful snake and the unknown horrors. There was no turning back, however, for that sentinel continued to slip and slide across the opening, and Piang bravely faced the two miles that lay between him and the other end of the underground passage.The air was heavy and moldy; the sides of the cave wet and slippery. Once his hand touched something that moved, and he almost fainted.“I am the real charm boy,” he whispered, “and nothing will hurt me. Ganassi, the wonder man, is with me. Forward!”Courageous and determined, the boy pressed on. A muffled cry resounded through the passage. Flattening himself against the slimy wall, Piang listened. He could not imagine what had made the sound, and he unsheathed his knife. At times he followed the bed of the stream, wading ankle-deep in the water, but the slippery stones turned or tripped him, and when he stepped on something that moved, he groaned and jumped to the narrow shelf-like ledge that overhung the water.A faint light stole through the gloom. Was it the end? But surely not, he had not gone more than a few hundred yards. He hurried forward. Brighter, clearer, it grew. Suddenly the brook made a sharp turn, and he found himself in a high, vaulted chamber, sparkling and shimmering in the light from above. Piang was so glad to see daylight again, faint as it was, that he did not stop to consider new dangers, and eagerly ran forward. He searched the sides for support on which to climb to the crevices, but the rotting vines and moss that lined the walls gave at his touch, and he fell back discouraged.Something crumbled under his body, and he discovered to his horror that he had fallen on a skeleton. A man had been here before him, then? But closer examination proved the bones to be those of apackda(ape). Snakes and worms wriggled out of the skeleton, and Piang shrank back in fear. The dread hamadryad leered at him; poisonous toads and lizards scurried for cover. How many more of these creatures would he encounter before escaping from this dungeon? Would Ganassi protect him and lead him safely through? Something seemed to tell the boy that he was safe and with renewed faith, he prepared to continue the journey.Everywhere the beauty of nature asserted itself. Pale green ferns seemed to hold out beseeching arms toward the light; moss crept upward hopefully, softening the rough ledges with its velvet touch. Great stalagmites and stalactites, smothered in the embrace of lichen and creepers, accepted the homage of the plant life indifferently. Piang was blind to the sublimity of his surroundings, as he hurried on. Carefully he stepped on the ledge; warily he held out hisbolo to ward off surprises. A sudden hiss made him leap into the stream, and shuddering, he plunged on, down the black path. Would the stream lead him to the sunlight again? Or was he burrowing into the depths of the earth, never again to breathe the air of life?Finally, after almost giving up hope, he heard the distant call of a mina-bird. The jungle! Frantically he worked his way forward, wondering if the mate to the sentinel at the other opening would bar his passage. Daylight! Faintly, at the end of the long tunnel, he could see the blessed green of the forest, but his cry of joy was stilled; his hope of safety vanished. Again that mournful cry echoed through the cavern, and he gave himself up for lost. The souls of the wicked were pursuing him, would capture him, and make him pay for intruding upon them! Piang reeled as he heard a splash in the water behind him; he caught at something for support; it writhed out of his hand. Paralyzed with fear, the boy scarcely breathed. On came the pursuer, stealthily, warily. Reaching the end of his endurance, Piang wheeled, and faced the cave.Something paused, whined, and a streak flew past him. The fetid odor of a living creature brought him to his senses, and his anxious eyes discerned the outline of a civet-cat making its way to the opening.As he struggled through those last few rods, Piang thought he had never worked so hard in his life, but finally he lay in the sunshine, safe, free, and unafraid.For two days Piang struggled upward. Everything was strange to him; the growths and trees were different from those of the lowlands. Scrub palms, covered with small buds, on which the dread packda feeds, began to appear, and Piang anxiously scanned the trees. There is no creature in the jungle that has the strength of the packda. Only the crocodile and the python are foolish enough to attack it, but the crocodile’s jaws are torn asunder, and the python is clawed to pieces.“Piang!” The name echoed and vibrated through the forest. Who had called him? Trembling with fear, filled with apprehension,Piang took refuge in a tree. From the branches he scanned the surrounding forest. Was a spirit following him from the haunted cave, or was it the hated Sicto?“Piang!” It came softly this time, as if from a greater distance. The underbrush moved, and Piang prayed that it might not be a spirit come to destroy him. The bush rustled, cracked, and parted as a dazzling white head made its appearance. Piang shut his eyes, dreading what was to come. Almost swooning, he slipped, lost his hold, and went crashing through the branches. Stunned by the fall, it was sometime before he regained consciousness, but the first thing he was aware of, was a hot breath on his face. Slowly he opened his eyes, wondering if he was dreaming. There, bending over him, was a marvelous white fawn.Startled and ashamed, Piang looked at the lovely thing. He put out his hand and the animal laid her soft muzzle in his palm, allowing him to caress her. What did she want? Were some of her babies in trouble? With his arm about the fawn’s neck, Piang allowed himself tobe led along a well defined path, trodden by many feet.“Piang!” Again his name was called, but for some reason fear had been banished from his heart, and he advanced without a qualm. Presently they came to one of the numerous jungle clearings. The sun did not burn at this altitude, and Piang took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air. A flapping of wings startled him, and before he could prevent, a brilliant mina-bird circled his head and gently lighted on his shoulder. A soft white mist was floating around and below him. The clouds! He was in them, “the breath of the wind,” and he thought that this must be fairyland.“Piang!” This time the voice was near at hand. Both creatures responded to the call, and Piang suffered himself to be led onward. The fawn stopped near a gigantic banian-tree. It was the only tree in the clearing and spread over more than an acre of ground, enticing the surrounding creepers and orchids to its shelter. Piang had seen these trees before, but never such a large one. The banian is like a huge tent;each branch sends shoots to the ground, which take root and become additional trunks, and year after year the tree increases its acreage; hundreds of men can find shelter under these jungle temples.“Piang!” The voice came from within the tree. Astonished, Piang watched the mina-bird flit through the sunlight and disappear into the banya. The fawn paused, looked gravely into the boy’s eyes, and with stately mien, walked into the tree.“Thank you, my little friends, for bringing Piang to Ganassi,” said the voice from within.Ganassi! So this was the haunt! This lovely natural dwelling, the dread Ganassi’s home! Expectantly, Piang waited. Was Ganassi a man, or was he only a voice, the heart of this banian-tree? While he stood gazing at the tree, waiting for the spirit to address him, or the man to appear, he was startled by a black, shiny head, and the loathsome coils of a python, writhing in the branches. The serpent! Piang had heard that it could fascinate animals, keeping themprisoner by its mystic powers, until ready to devour them. Ganassi was, then, an evil spirit in the form of a serpent! Piang uttered a low cry.“So, my little pet, you have frightened Piang, the charm boy! You must not do that.”The snake, responding to the voice, stuck its head through the foliage and slipped from sight.The voice! The voice! It had called him the charm boy! Piang’s fear abated, and he said tremblingly:“O great Ganassi, will you not show yourself to me, Piang?” Breathlessly the boy listened. The branches swayed, parted, and the mina-bird floated through. The python, head erect, followed, and next came the graceful white form of his first friend. On its neck it supported a weird creature. Bent and wrinkled, was the little old man; a few strands of white hair flowed from his chin, and his eyebrows and lashes had almost disappeared. Toothless, almost hairless as he was, there was that about Ganassi that precluded horror, for his sparkling eyes were kind, and his mouth gently curved into a smile. Piang fell onhis knees. The hermit surrounded by his pets, advanced and raised the boy.“My little Piang! So you have come to Ganassi at last. He has known for many years that you would come. Long before you were born he knew, and his heart is glad to welcome you.”“Is it true, O wise man, that I am the real charm boy, and that I shall lead Kali Pandapatan’s tribe to victory?”“You have spoken, my son. It was over you, not the impostor, Sicto, that the mystic star hovered on the night of your birth.”At the mention of his enemy’s name, Piang quickly scanned the surrounding jungle, but Ganassi’s soft chuckle reassured him.“Have no fear, child. Sicto can never harm you, nor will he ever reach Ganassi. The python would smother him; the mina-bird would peck out his eyes; the gentle fawn would lead him astray.”“How do you know all this, O Ganassi?”“The question shall be answered, Piang, because you are charm boy, but should other lipsutter it, they should never speak again. Enter.”Ganassi held back the slender trunk-roots of the banian. Curiously, the boy looked about. All the wonder of the jungle seemed centered in this sacred spot. A forest of stems and aerial roots greeted his eyes; from overhead the graceful and rare Vanda lowii sent inquisitive blooms to caress his cheek; they mingled with his dark hair, scenting the air with their strange fragrance. From tree-ferns, nestling in the branches, tiny heads peeped out, and little feathered creatures chirruped a welcome. A civet-cat was lazily stroking its face with one paw. Something large and hairy stirred on a nest of dried grass, and sleepily a full-grown packda stretched himself and gazed at Piang. The python approached it, and a hairy paw was extended; his snakeship coiled up beside the ape, and the mina-bird flew to the ape’s shoulder.Piang could scarcely believe his eyes. Here all was at peace, and natural enemies forgot to fight and kill.“Piang, all these creatures are going to be your friends.”Piang seated himself on the soft turf opposite Ganassi; the fawn nosed her head under Piang’s arm and sank by his side.“The charm that I am about to give you will protect you from tempest, danger, and deceit: no storm can destroy you; no animal can creep upon you unaware, and no man can lie to you. You will become the wise man of Mindanao, the guide of your people, the heart of the island.”Solemnly the boy followed the words of the old man.“You shall be taught all the truths of the nation, and you shall pass them along to the generations.”Piang’s face brightened. At last he was to know the answers to many puzzling questions.“Ask what you will, boy. I will answer you truthfully and justly, telling you the things as they are, as they have been since the day of creation.”“Why, O Ganassi, must Mohammedans never eat the flesh of the wild boar? It is forbidden that we touch pork, yet the Christians find it good.” Ganassi’s brow clouded:“Have you never heard of the Christian’s God? Do you not know that we hate Christians because they believe a Son of God could be killed by man? They call him Christ, but we know that the Almighty is Toohan, omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient. Their prophet Isa [Jesus] once visited the great Mahomet, and when Mahomet demanded that he divine what was in the room beyond, Isa refused, saying that he had no wish to show power.“‘Answer correctly, or you pay for it with your life!’ thundered Mahomet. Isa then replied that he had two strange animals in the room.“‘Wrong!’ cried Mahomet. ‘You shall now be killed. My two beloved grandchildren are behind those doors!’ but when they were flung open, two filthy boars ran out; Isa had changed the children into pigs! And so, Piang, no true Mohammedan will eat the flesh of the wild boar. Beware, lest you ever let a Christian hear this story; it is not for us to acknowledge that Isa is greater than Mahomet.”Piang was shocked. No wonder his people abstained from the flesh of the boar.“Can you tell me what makes the sea rise and fall, and why the tides rush in and flow out again?” asked Piang.A smile broke over Ganassi’s leathery features.“In a far distant sea lives a giant crab; when he goes into his hole, the water is pushed out, and when he comes forth for food, the water rushes in.” It was so simple that Piang laughed heartily. The mina-bird, startled, squawked an admonition and fluttered to Piang’s lap.“Where do we go when we die,” asked the inquisitive boy.Ganassi scouted the Christian’s belief that heaven is in the clouds. Were they not in the clouds now?On its neck it supported a weird creatureOn its neck it supported a weird creature“When a child is born, the soul enters the body through the opening left in the skull. This hole soon closes, confining the spirit within. When death comes to a household in Moroland, have you not seen the master of the house mount to the roof and remain there through the night?Well, that is to prevent the evil spirit, Bal-Bal, from entering. This dread creature sails through the air like a flying Lemur (monkey), tears the thatch from the roof with his terrible curved nails, scatters the defenders, and licks up the body with his forked tongue of fire. The soul of this deceased never reaches heaven. Your charm, Piang, will ward him off.” The boy sat, mouth open, eyes staring. “A soul is guided to a cave that leads deep down in the earth, and there, between two gigantic trees, stands Taliakoo, a giant, who tends the eternal fires. Taliakoo inquires of the newcomer what he has to say for himself, and to the surprise of the soul, something within it answers. Conscience, the witness, replies, and according to the decree of this strange arbiter, the fate of the soul is decided. If nothing but ill can be said for it, it is pitched into the fire; if it has been good, it is allowed to pass on to the abode of the blessed. The soul that meets with neither fate, is punished according to its sins: if it has lied, its mouth pains; if it has been a thief, its hands itch and burn, and eventually, after the periodof punishment is over, it precedes to heaven, cleansed of its sins.”The big ape, sleeping soundly, emitted a snore so human, that Piang laughed.“Why does the packda look so like a man, Ganassi?”“Because he oncewasa man,” was the startling reply. “He was lazy and, instead of working, climbed trees and hunted minas (monkey-nuts). A companion, becoming vexed, uttered a curse on him and threw a stick at him. These things clung to the lazy man: the stick became a tail, and the curse deprived him of speech. Ashamed of himself, he and his family took to the trees, never to return.”Many questions were put to the wise old hermit, and his ready answers astonished, but satisfied, Piang. Night came on, and the strange company lay down together under the shelter of the banian and slept.Piang was very happy. He had reached Ganassi, was proclaimed the real charm boy, and was at last to receive the glorious charm. Somesaid it was a star tossed to Moroland by the Creator, that it was the emblem of power, and that he who wore it would be filled with a divine understanding. Others believed it to be the great diamond of Borneo, captured many years before from the pirates of that fierce land. Piang did not care which it proved to be, as long as it shone and sparkled with beauty. All agreed that its brilliance dazzled the eye, that its magnificence was unrivaled. Ganassi had waited a hundred years for the charm boy who was destined to wear it, and at last the star had proclaimed Piang to be the lucky boy. Through Piang’s dreams flitted the visions of shimmering jewels of gold, and the happy smile on the boy’s lips made old Ganassi’s heart glad.“Up, up with you, sleepyhead!” called Ganassi. “The sun will catch you napping if you do not hurry.”Piang sleepily rubbed his eyes and sat up. Horror and fright seized him as he beheld the body of the python curled up beside him and thepackda contemplating him with indifference. From the doorway Ganassi smilingly watched him.“Come, my subjects are assembling; they will all assist in the ceremony of the sacred charm.” The charm! Piang remembered and jumped to his feet. Creatures from all over the mountain were answering Ganassi’s weird call; the air was full of fluttering birds, and monkeys came swinging toward them. Ganassi gave to each a sweet or a fruit.“Piang, no dato can boast of a grander court than Ganassi, eh?” chuckled the old man.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 animalshave 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 tellno 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 AdventureThe Fire TreeThe 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 possibilityof 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 andothers 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 thehoney 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 PanditaAsinled 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 brilliantlystriped 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 thesiwaka(tribute) to the sultan at Cotabato. The fire-treehas 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 andcomoties(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.“The boom! We must cut it!”“The boom! We must cut it!”“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 theleaders 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 wouldnot 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 resistedthe 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 pointedsignificantly 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, nothingcould 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. GloomilyPiang 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, therewas a murmuring protest. Anger blazed in Piang’s eyes.“Am I not charm boy?” he demanded. “Any one who refuses to obey me will be thrown to the crocodiles!” Gradually the dominant nature overruled their timidities, and the protests subsided. Following Piang’s directions, strips of bamboo were cut, and the charm boy constructed light frames for his feet. They looked like snow-shoes, and when he bound one securely to each foot and jumped lightly to the bank, there was a cry of surprise. Piang, the wonderful, was indeed sent by Allah to guide them!In a twinkling each Moro was supplied with similar mud-shoes, and like giant land-crabs, they flitted off across the marsh. Too wise to begin before reconnoitering, Piang led his men to the banks of the stream below to Big Bend. After hasty calculations he set them to work digging toward the head waters, following a line of ratan which he stretched to guide them.Faster, faster flew the scoops and broad knives; deeper, wider grew the ditch that was to form a new river-bed. Piang was everywhere. Heflew about on his light frames as lightly as a faun, directing the construction of new tools, calculating and measuring for the ditch.Once he heard a call from the man guarding the rafts. A troop of wild hogs, attracted by the comoties, was trying to reach the rafts. Piang lighted a torch and hurled it among them. Crocodiles lurked near, and he ordered torches kept burning to frighten them also.New difficulties confronted Piang. Would the water not at first rush through the ditch with such force that the rafts would be dashed to pieces? He held a branch in the current; it was torn from his grasp. With great foresight, he ordered all the floats to be taken up the river and securely moored. Back to the ditch he flew. Yes, yes, it was going to be successful! Before the attack was made by Kali Pandapatan, Piang would have the rafts through the cut-off, safely on their journey to the estuary. How surprised the dato would be when Piang advanced against the enemy from the other side of the Big Bend! He laughed softly, hugging himself in boyish delight.Away he pattered toward some men who were apparently in difficulty.“Halamantek!” (“Leeches!”) they called. They were pulling the slothful creatures off each other, but as soon as they freed themselves from the pests, more fell from above or crept up from the mud. Piang had foreseen this difficulty and had supplied himself with a small gourd filled with cocoanut oil, strongly saturated with cinchona (quinine). Offering some of his small store to the men, they gratefully rubbed the mixture into their flesh and bent to their task again. Piang exhorted them to work, warning them if the ditch was not completed before moonrise, all would be lost, and off he danced blending in with the night and its secrets like a picturesquepampahilep(jungle imp).Only Moros could have accomplished so difficult a task in the dark. With a will they sturdily plied the crude tools and before the blackness of the night had been lifted by the rising moon, the excited little party was crowding around Piang as he examined the few remaining feet to be accomplished. Like a generalmeeting a crisis, Piang sharply gave his orders:“Tooloowee, take your pole and stand on the far side of the ditch. When I give the signal, push the dyke with all your might.” He stationed another powerful Moro opposite Tooloowee.“Bungao, do you hasten to the rafts and prepare to resist the first flood that will sweep through the ditch.”When all was ready Piang raised his hand and the struggle began. Little by little the soft mud was worked away, and the current, feeling the banks weaken, seemed to lose interest in its natural bed. At first the stream only caressed its new-found outlet, but gradually it concentrated its forces, and, with a mighty rush, attacked the slight remaining resistance and went thundering off into the ditch. A smothered cry went up from the Moros:“Piang! Piang!” How they loved their wise little charm boy!But the work was not yet completed. Piang let go his anchorage and headed for the mouth ofthe ditch. The water was rapidly widening the work of their hands, but in places the cut-off was barely wide enough to let the long slender floats by, and the water was rushing through with terrific force. The moon trembled on the brink of the jungle. Would they reach the other side in time to aid Kali? Suppose he was driven back before Piang and his men could attack from the other side?“Ala! ala!” (“Quickly! quickly!”) Piang called softly. His raft came up with a sudden jerk, almost throwing him into the seething, muddy torrent. Other rafts bumped into his, and soon a blockade was forming as the swift current bore them down upon him. Piang cut and slashed at the banks, tearing away protruding vines and accumulating driftwood. The moon, the moon, would it wait? Frantically he toiled while Tooloowee held off the other rafts with his long pole. When Piang’s float was finally released, it bounded joyously along, nosing first one bank, then the other. The river! He could see it! Only a few rods more!At the mouth of the ditch there was more trouble.Mud and debris had collected along the sides, but these were quickly worked through and they passed into the main river. Little short of a miracle had been performed. The ditch was growing wider and deeper every moment and judging from the enormous flow of water, it would not be long before the river deserted its circuitous route in favor of this direct one.“Quick! quick!” whispered Piang. “Bungao, bind the siwaka rafts together and head for Cotabato. We will overtake you before sunrise.” A faint cry reached them. Kali had begun the attack. In an agony of suspense the brave Moros worked their way up toward the Big Bend. Suddenly Piang grasped Tooloowee’s arm and pointed toward a streak that ran across the river.“The boom! We must cut it!” They made a dash toward the obstacle that stood in Kali’s path, but an arrow whizzed by their heads.“Tooloowee, we have been discovered. I go to cut the way!” and before the astonished Tooloowee could prevent, Piang had dived into the water and disappeared.“Piang, the crocodiles, the crocodiles!” wailedTooloowee, but the charm boy could not hear as he slipped up the muddy river, swimming easily under water. Just as Kali was preparing to retreat, driven back by the fierce storm of arrows, he gave the signal that had been agreed upon. Three loud calls in imitation of the mina-bird went wailing through the night. What was Kali’s surprise to hear the answer a few yards in front of him! And what was that dark shape bobbing up and down on the boom?While he watched, amazed, the big clumsy logs divided, and swung slowly out, leaving the channel clear. Piang had severed the ratan thongs.“Lééééé lelele ouiiiiii!” crashed through the night, and Kali recognized his tribal war-cry.“Piang! Piang!” he cried. The dark shape, clinging to the drifting boom answered, and Kali rushed toward it. Before the enemy could gather their scattered wits, the whole party was sweeping by, on toward freedom. As Kali bore down on Piang, the boy raised himself to meet the raft. It was coming at a terrific rate, and he feared it would knock him off the boom; measuringthe distance, he prepared to leap. On came the raft, Kali leaning far over the side, arms extended to grab the boy. When Kali was only a few yards off, Piang screamed:“Boia! boia!” (“Crocodile! crocodile!”) The men on the raft saw the water stir and hurled spear and arrow, but they glanced off the scaly hide. It was a race with death, and what a miserable death for Piang, their idol! The boy grew cold and sick as he waited. Suddenly the raft paused, held in check by Kali’s pole. Piang almost fainted. What was his chief doing? In a moment he realized that the quick action had saved his life. The raft swerved, bumped against the crocodile, and came between it and Piang. The next moment Piang was in Kali’s arms.In the light of the gray dawn, Sicto watched these two as they gazed into each other’s eyes; they swept triumphantly by, heedless of flying arrows. The radiant fire-tree blooms still clustered around Piang’s head, and his sacred charm gleamed in the early light. Firmly believing that spirits had aided Piang in his remarkable feat,Sicto trembled with fear, and, with a last glance at the victorious charm boy, he turned and fled into the jungle.Wonderingly, Kali Pandapatan and his followers viewed the new cut-off as they floated by. Amazed, they listened to the marvelous tale. Old Dato Kali Pandapatan laid his hands once again on his favorite’s head:“Little brother,” he said, “this shall be known as Piang’s Cut-off. Some day you will be the greatest dato in Mindanao.”

Third AdventureThe Hermit of Ganassi PeakThe silence was oppressive. Piang stumbled along through the tangle of vines and weeds, tired and foot-sore. Would he never find the path to the peak? And was there really a mysterious old man who had lived up there for over a hundred years? Sicto was somewhere on that mountain, striving to reach the summit too, and the pandita had said that the boy who arrived first, was the real charm boy. They had both started from thebarrio(village) the same day; Sicto had plunged into the jungle, while Piang had chosen the river and lake. He shuddered at the recollection of his many narrow escapes during the journey. Where was his enemy, Sicto, now? Had he found an easier route, and was he already with old Ganassi, receiving the rites of charm boy?Unfamiliar with the vegetation on the mountain,Piang was afraid to touch the many strange fruits, so he contented himself with bananas and cocoanuts, and for water he drank dew from the enormous pitcher-plants. The jungle was thick, and it was difficult to decide in what direction to go, so Piang had to climb trees to get his bearings. One day just as he was starting up a tall tree, he was startled by a sound. Something was crashing through the bushes below him. Visions of terrible mountain animals flashed through his head, and he hastily scrambled up the tree. On came the creature, now pausing a moment, now plunging into the mesh of vines, tearing them asunder, always following the path Piang had made. Preparing himself for some strange beast, the boy drew bow and waited. Suddenly he started. A cold chill gripped him. That sound! It was a voice—Sicto’s! Crouching against the tree, Piang hoped to escape detection, but just as Sicto passed beneath the tree, Piang’s bow slipped and fell to the ground. Sicto jumped aside and looked up:“Oh, ho, my pretty Piang! So I’ve got you, have I?” The bully started up the tree.Like a flash Piang was away. As easily as any monkey he swung himself into the next tree, and before Sicto realized it, Piang was taunting him from the very top of a far-off tree. More agile and much smaller than Sicto, Piang could easily travel in this way, and after a few unsuccessful attempts to follow, Sicto jumped to the ground. Slyly making his way along on foot, Sicto watched his rival. When Piang thought he had outdistanced his pursuer, he slipped to the ground and started off.“Lēēēēēē lèlèlèlè ouiiiit!” The war-cry rang through the jungle, and Piang knew that his life depended on his fleet-footedness. Over fallen tree trunks, through dense cogon grass, Piang fled. His feet were pierced by wicked thorns, and everything he touched seemed to throw out a defense against him. Bamboo caught at his clothing and held him prisoner;bajucavines clutched his weapons, hurling him to the ground. Sicto was gaining on him. After poor Piang had made the path through the jungle, it was easy enough for Sicto to follow.On, up, fled the boy. He came to a clearingthrough which a mountain stream was bubbling. The sun beat down; the stifling heat rising from rotting vegetation took his breath away, but Piang ran on. What was that black hole yawning in the mountain side? With a gasp, Piang realized he was at the mouth of the haunted cave.The brook, flowing swiftly down the mountain, plunged into the cave and disappeared, to come to the surface about two miles away. It was the home of the most terrible reptiles and animals, and the souls of wicked people waited there for Judgment Day.Piang scanned the precipitous cliffs, the impenetrable jungle, in search of an avenue of escape. He was trapped. A gloating cry from Sicto decided him. Sicto was a coward and would be afraid to follow him, so Piang ran toward the cave. Had not the pandita said that Ganassi would be with the real charm boy, and was not Piang sure of that protection? Who but Piang was the charm boy?Piang’s courage began to flag, however, as he caught the cold, damp odor from the cave, but he bravely plunged into the forbidding-lookingcavern. Man had probably never set foot in that place before. Creeping along, he peered into the increasing darkness, but could see nothing. A shriek startled him, and the sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Sicto had started to follow Piang, but just as he came to the opening, a huge python slipped across the mouth of the cave, waving its enormous head from side to side. Sicto, trembling with fear, retreated into the jungle, and as Piang saw him disappear, he longed to be out again, fighting Sicto, anything, rather than penned up in the cave with that frightful snake and the unknown horrors. There was no turning back, however, for that sentinel continued to slip and slide across the opening, and Piang bravely faced the two miles that lay between him and the other end of the underground passage.The air was heavy and moldy; the sides of the cave wet and slippery. Once his hand touched something that moved, and he almost fainted.“I am the real charm boy,” he whispered, “and nothing will hurt me. Ganassi, the wonder man, is with me. Forward!”Courageous and determined, the boy pressed on. A muffled cry resounded through the passage. Flattening himself against the slimy wall, Piang listened. He could not imagine what had made the sound, and he unsheathed his knife. At times he followed the bed of the stream, wading ankle-deep in the water, but the slippery stones turned or tripped him, and when he stepped on something that moved, he groaned and jumped to the narrow shelf-like ledge that overhung the water.A faint light stole through the gloom. Was it the end? But surely not, he had not gone more than a few hundred yards. He hurried forward. Brighter, clearer, it grew. Suddenly the brook made a sharp turn, and he found himself in a high, vaulted chamber, sparkling and shimmering in the light from above. Piang was so glad to see daylight again, faint as it was, that he did not stop to consider new dangers, and eagerly ran forward. He searched the sides for support on which to climb to the crevices, but the rotting vines and moss that lined the walls gave at his touch, and he fell back discouraged.Something crumbled under his body, and he discovered to his horror that he had fallen on a skeleton. A man had been here before him, then? But closer examination proved the bones to be those of apackda(ape). Snakes and worms wriggled out of the skeleton, and Piang shrank back in fear. The dread hamadryad leered at him; poisonous toads and lizards scurried for cover. How many more of these creatures would he encounter before escaping from this dungeon? Would Ganassi protect him and lead him safely through? Something seemed to tell the boy that he was safe and with renewed faith, he prepared to continue the journey.Everywhere the beauty of nature asserted itself. Pale green ferns seemed to hold out beseeching arms toward the light; moss crept upward hopefully, softening the rough ledges with its velvet touch. Great stalagmites and stalactites, smothered in the embrace of lichen and creepers, accepted the homage of the plant life indifferently. Piang was blind to the sublimity of his surroundings, as he hurried on. Carefully he stepped on the ledge; warily he held out hisbolo to ward off surprises. A sudden hiss made him leap into the stream, and shuddering, he plunged on, down the black path. Would the stream lead him to the sunlight again? Or was he burrowing into the depths of the earth, never again to breathe the air of life?Finally, after almost giving up hope, he heard the distant call of a mina-bird. The jungle! Frantically he worked his way forward, wondering if the mate to the sentinel at the other opening would bar his passage. Daylight! Faintly, at the end of the long tunnel, he could see the blessed green of the forest, but his cry of joy was stilled; his hope of safety vanished. Again that mournful cry echoed through the cavern, and he gave himself up for lost. The souls of the wicked were pursuing him, would capture him, and make him pay for intruding upon them! Piang reeled as he heard a splash in the water behind him; he caught at something for support; it writhed out of his hand. Paralyzed with fear, the boy scarcely breathed. On came the pursuer, stealthily, warily. Reaching the end of his endurance, Piang wheeled, and faced the cave.Something paused, whined, and a streak flew past him. The fetid odor of a living creature brought him to his senses, and his anxious eyes discerned the outline of a civet-cat making its way to the opening.As he struggled through those last few rods, Piang thought he had never worked so hard in his life, but finally he lay in the sunshine, safe, free, and unafraid.For two days Piang struggled upward. Everything was strange to him; the growths and trees were different from those of the lowlands. Scrub palms, covered with small buds, on which the dread packda feeds, began to appear, and Piang anxiously scanned the trees. There is no creature in the jungle that has the strength of the packda. Only the crocodile and the python are foolish enough to attack it, but the crocodile’s jaws are torn asunder, and the python is clawed to pieces.“Piang!” The name echoed and vibrated through the forest. Who had called him? Trembling with fear, filled with apprehension,Piang took refuge in a tree. From the branches he scanned the surrounding forest. Was a spirit following him from the haunted cave, or was it the hated Sicto?“Piang!” It came softly this time, as if from a greater distance. The underbrush moved, and Piang prayed that it might not be a spirit come to destroy him. The bush rustled, cracked, and parted as a dazzling white head made its appearance. Piang shut his eyes, dreading what was to come. Almost swooning, he slipped, lost his hold, and went crashing through the branches. Stunned by the fall, it was sometime before he regained consciousness, but the first thing he was aware of, was a hot breath on his face. Slowly he opened his eyes, wondering if he was dreaming. There, bending over him, was a marvelous white fawn.Startled and ashamed, Piang looked at the lovely thing. He put out his hand and the animal laid her soft muzzle in his palm, allowing him to caress her. What did she want? Were some of her babies in trouble? With his arm about the fawn’s neck, Piang allowed himself tobe led along a well defined path, trodden by many feet.“Piang!” Again his name was called, but for some reason fear had been banished from his heart, and he advanced without a qualm. Presently they came to one of the numerous jungle clearings. The sun did not burn at this altitude, and Piang took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air. A flapping of wings startled him, and before he could prevent, a brilliant mina-bird circled his head and gently lighted on his shoulder. A soft white mist was floating around and below him. The clouds! He was in them, “the breath of the wind,” and he thought that this must be fairyland.“Piang!” This time the voice was near at hand. Both creatures responded to the call, and Piang suffered himself to be led onward. The fawn stopped near a gigantic banian-tree. It was the only tree in the clearing and spread over more than an acre of ground, enticing the surrounding creepers and orchids to its shelter. Piang had seen these trees before, but never such a large one. The banian is like a huge tent;each branch sends shoots to the ground, which take root and become additional trunks, and year after year the tree increases its acreage; hundreds of men can find shelter under these jungle temples.“Piang!” The voice came from within the tree. Astonished, Piang watched the mina-bird flit through the sunlight and disappear into the banya. The fawn paused, looked gravely into the boy’s eyes, and with stately mien, walked into the tree.“Thank you, my little friends, for bringing Piang to Ganassi,” said the voice from within.Ganassi! So this was the haunt! This lovely natural dwelling, the dread Ganassi’s home! Expectantly, Piang waited. Was Ganassi a man, or was he only a voice, the heart of this banian-tree? While he stood gazing at the tree, waiting for the spirit to address him, or the man to appear, he was startled by a black, shiny head, and the loathsome coils of a python, writhing in the branches. The serpent! Piang had heard that it could fascinate animals, keeping themprisoner by its mystic powers, until ready to devour them. Ganassi was, then, an evil spirit in the form of a serpent! Piang uttered a low cry.“So, my little pet, you have frightened Piang, the charm boy! You must not do that.”The snake, responding to the voice, stuck its head through the foliage and slipped from sight.The voice! The voice! It had called him the charm boy! Piang’s fear abated, and he said tremblingly:“O great Ganassi, will you not show yourself to me, Piang?” Breathlessly the boy listened. The branches swayed, parted, and the mina-bird floated through. The python, head erect, followed, and next came the graceful white form of his first friend. On its neck it supported a weird creature. Bent and wrinkled, was the little old man; a few strands of white hair flowed from his chin, and his eyebrows and lashes had almost disappeared. Toothless, almost hairless as he was, there was that about Ganassi that precluded horror, for his sparkling eyes were kind, and his mouth gently curved into a smile. Piang fell onhis knees. The hermit surrounded by his pets, advanced and raised the boy.“My little Piang! So you have come to Ganassi at last. He has known for many years that you would come. Long before you were born he knew, and his heart is glad to welcome you.”“Is it true, O wise man, that I am the real charm boy, and that I shall lead Kali Pandapatan’s tribe to victory?”“You have spoken, my son. It was over you, not the impostor, Sicto, that the mystic star hovered on the night of your birth.”At the mention of his enemy’s name, Piang quickly scanned the surrounding jungle, but Ganassi’s soft chuckle reassured him.“Have no fear, child. Sicto can never harm you, nor will he ever reach Ganassi. The python would smother him; the mina-bird would peck out his eyes; the gentle fawn would lead him astray.”“How do you know all this, O Ganassi?”“The question shall be answered, Piang, because you are charm boy, but should other lipsutter it, they should never speak again. Enter.”Ganassi held back the slender trunk-roots of the banian. Curiously, the boy looked about. All the wonder of the jungle seemed centered in this sacred spot. A forest of stems and aerial roots greeted his eyes; from overhead the graceful and rare Vanda lowii sent inquisitive blooms to caress his cheek; they mingled with his dark hair, scenting the air with their strange fragrance. From tree-ferns, nestling in the branches, tiny heads peeped out, and little feathered creatures chirruped a welcome. A civet-cat was lazily stroking its face with one paw. Something large and hairy stirred on a nest of dried grass, and sleepily a full-grown packda stretched himself and gazed at Piang. The python approached it, and a hairy paw was extended; his snakeship coiled up beside the ape, and the mina-bird flew to the ape’s shoulder.Piang could scarcely believe his eyes. Here all was at peace, and natural enemies forgot to fight and kill.“Piang, all these creatures are going to be your friends.”Piang seated himself on the soft turf opposite Ganassi; the fawn nosed her head under Piang’s arm and sank by his side.“The charm that I am about to give you will protect you from tempest, danger, and deceit: no storm can destroy you; no animal can creep upon you unaware, and no man can lie to you. You will become the wise man of Mindanao, the guide of your people, the heart of the island.”Solemnly the boy followed the words of the old man.“You shall be taught all the truths of the nation, and you shall pass them along to the generations.”Piang’s face brightened. At last he was to know the answers to many puzzling questions.“Ask what you will, boy. I will answer you truthfully and justly, telling you the things as they are, as they have been since the day of creation.”“Why, O Ganassi, must Mohammedans never eat the flesh of the wild boar? It is forbidden that we touch pork, yet the Christians find it good.” Ganassi’s brow clouded:“Have you never heard of the Christian’s God? Do you not know that we hate Christians because they believe a Son of God could be killed by man? They call him Christ, but we know that the Almighty is Toohan, omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient. Their prophet Isa [Jesus] once visited the great Mahomet, and when Mahomet demanded that he divine what was in the room beyond, Isa refused, saying that he had no wish to show power.“‘Answer correctly, or you pay for it with your life!’ thundered Mahomet. Isa then replied that he had two strange animals in the room.“‘Wrong!’ cried Mahomet. ‘You shall now be killed. My two beloved grandchildren are behind those doors!’ but when they were flung open, two filthy boars ran out; Isa had changed the children into pigs! And so, Piang, no true Mohammedan will eat the flesh of the wild boar. Beware, lest you ever let a Christian hear this story; it is not for us to acknowledge that Isa is greater than Mahomet.”Piang was shocked. No wonder his people abstained from the flesh of the boar.“Can you tell me what makes the sea rise and fall, and why the tides rush in and flow out again?” asked Piang.A smile broke over Ganassi’s leathery features.“In a far distant sea lives a giant crab; when he goes into his hole, the water is pushed out, and when he comes forth for food, the water rushes in.” It was so simple that Piang laughed heartily. The mina-bird, startled, squawked an admonition and fluttered to Piang’s lap.“Where do we go when we die,” asked the inquisitive boy.Ganassi scouted the Christian’s belief that heaven is in the clouds. Were they not in the clouds now?On its neck it supported a weird creatureOn its neck it supported a weird creature“When a child is born, the soul enters the body through the opening left in the skull. This hole soon closes, confining the spirit within. When death comes to a household in Moroland, have you not seen the master of the house mount to the roof and remain there through the night?Well, that is to prevent the evil spirit, Bal-Bal, from entering. This dread creature sails through the air like a flying Lemur (monkey), tears the thatch from the roof with his terrible curved nails, scatters the defenders, and licks up the body with his forked tongue of fire. The soul of this deceased never reaches heaven. Your charm, Piang, will ward him off.” The boy sat, mouth open, eyes staring. “A soul is guided to a cave that leads deep down in the earth, and there, between two gigantic trees, stands Taliakoo, a giant, who tends the eternal fires. Taliakoo inquires of the newcomer what he has to say for himself, and to the surprise of the soul, something within it answers. Conscience, the witness, replies, and according to the decree of this strange arbiter, the fate of the soul is decided. If nothing but ill can be said for it, it is pitched into the fire; if it has been good, it is allowed to pass on to the abode of the blessed. The soul that meets with neither fate, is punished according to its sins: if it has lied, its mouth pains; if it has been a thief, its hands itch and burn, and eventually, after the periodof punishment is over, it precedes to heaven, cleansed of its sins.”The big ape, sleeping soundly, emitted a snore so human, that Piang laughed.“Why does the packda look so like a man, Ganassi?”“Because he oncewasa man,” was the startling reply. “He was lazy and, instead of working, climbed trees and hunted minas (monkey-nuts). A companion, becoming vexed, uttered a curse on him and threw a stick at him. These things clung to the lazy man: the stick became a tail, and the curse deprived him of speech. Ashamed of himself, he and his family took to the trees, never to return.”Many questions were put to the wise old hermit, and his ready answers astonished, but satisfied, Piang. Night came on, and the strange company lay down together under the shelter of the banian and slept.Piang was very happy. He had reached Ganassi, was proclaimed the real charm boy, and was at last to receive the glorious charm. Somesaid it was a star tossed to Moroland by the Creator, that it was the emblem of power, and that he who wore it would be filled with a divine understanding. Others believed it to be the great diamond of Borneo, captured many years before from the pirates of that fierce land. Piang did not care which it proved to be, as long as it shone and sparkled with beauty. All agreed that its brilliance dazzled the eye, that its magnificence was unrivaled. Ganassi had waited a hundred years for the charm boy who was destined to wear it, and at last the star had proclaimed Piang to be the lucky boy. Through Piang’s dreams flitted the visions of shimmering jewels of gold, and the happy smile on the boy’s lips made old Ganassi’s heart glad.“Up, up with you, sleepyhead!” called Ganassi. “The sun will catch you napping if you do not hurry.”Piang sleepily rubbed his eyes and sat up. Horror and fright seized him as he beheld the body of the python curled up beside him and thepackda contemplating him with indifference. From the doorway Ganassi smilingly watched him.“Come, my subjects are assembling; they will all assist in the ceremony of the sacred charm.” The charm! Piang remembered and jumped to his feet. Creatures from all over the mountain were answering Ganassi’s weird call; the air was full of fluttering birds, and monkeys came swinging toward them. Ganassi gave to each a sweet or a fruit.“Piang, no dato can boast of a grander court than Ganassi, eh?” chuckled the old man.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 animalshave 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 tellno 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.”

The silence was oppressive. Piang stumbled along through the tangle of vines and weeds, tired and foot-sore. Would he never find the path to the peak? And was there really a mysterious old man who had lived up there for over a hundred years? Sicto was somewhere on that mountain, striving to reach the summit too, and the pandita had said that the boy who arrived first, was the real charm boy. They had both started from thebarrio(village) the same day; Sicto had plunged into the jungle, while Piang had chosen the river and lake. He shuddered at the recollection of his many narrow escapes during the journey. Where was his enemy, Sicto, now? Had he found an easier route, and was he already with old Ganassi, receiving the rites of charm boy?

Unfamiliar with the vegetation on the mountain,Piang was afraid to touch the many strange fruits, so he contented himself with bananas and cocoanuts, and for water he drank dew from the enormous pitcher-plants. The jungle was thick, and it was difficult to decide in what direction to go, so Piang had to climb trees to get his bearings. One day just as he was starting up a tall tree, he was startled by a sound. Something was crashing through the bushes below him. Visions of terrible mountain animals flashed through his head, and he hastily scrambled up the tree. On came the creature, now pausing a moment, now plunging into the mesh of vines, tearing them asunder, always following the path Piang had made. Preparing himself for some strange beast, the boy drew bow and waited. Suddenly he started. A cold chill gripped him. That sound! It was a voice—Sicto’s! Crouching against the tree, Piang hoped to escape detection, but just as Sicto passed beneath the tree, Piang’s bow slipped and fell to the ground. Sicto jumped aside and looked up:

“Oh, ho, my pretty Piang! So I’ve got you, have I?” The bully started up the tree.

Like a flash Piang was away. As easily as any monkey he swung himself into the next tree, and before Sicto realized it, Piang was taunting him from the very top of a far-off tree. More agile and much smaller than Sicto, Piang could easily travel in this way, and after a few unsuccessful attempts to follow, Sicto jumped to the ground. Slyly making his way along on foot, Sicto watched his rival. When Piang thought he had outdistanced his pursuer, he slipped to the ground and started off.

“Lēēēēēē lèlèlèlè ouiiiit!” The war-cry rang through the jungle, and Piang knew that his life depended on his fleet-footedness. Over fallen tree trunks, through dense cogon grass, Piang fled. His feet were pierced by wicked thorns, and everything he touched seemed to throw out a defense against him. Bamboo caught at his clothing and held him prisoner;bajucavines clutched his weapons, hurling him to the ground. Sicto was gaining on him. After poor Piang had made the path through the jungle, it was easy enough for Sicto to follow.

On, up, fled the boy. He came to a clearingthrough which a mountain stream was bubbling. The sun beat down; the stifling heat rising from rotting vegetation took his breath away, but Piang ran on. What was that black hole yawning in the mountain side? With a gasp, Piang realized he was at the mouth of the haunted cave.

The brook, flowing swiftly down the mountain, plunged into the cave and disappeared, to come to the surface about two miles away. It was the home of the most terrible reptiles and animals, and the souls of wicked people waited there for Judgment Day.

Piang scanned the precipitous cliffs, the impenetrable jungle, in search of an avenue of escape. He was trapped. A gloating cry from Sicto decided him. Sicto was a coward and would be afraid to follow him, so Piang ran toward the cave. Had not the pandita said that Ganassi would be with the real charm boy, and was not Piang sure of that protection? Who but Piang was the charm boy?

Piang’s courage began to flag, however, as he caught the cold, damp odor from the cave, but he bravely plunged into the forbidding-lookingcavern. Man had probably never set foot in that place before. Creeping along, he peered into the increasing darkness, but could see nothing. A shriek startled him, and the sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Sicto had started to follow Piang, but just as he came to the opening, a huge python slipped across the mouth of the cave, waving its enormous head from side to side. Sicto, trembling with fear, retreated into the jungle, and as Piang saw him disappear, he longed to be out again, fighting Sicto, anything, rather than penned up in the cave with that frightful snake and the unknown horrors. There was no turning back, however, for that sentinel continued to slip and slide across the opening, and Piang bravely faced the two miles that lay between him and the other end of the underground passage.

The air was heavy and moldy; the sides of the cave wet and slippery. Once his hand touched something that moved, and he almost fainted.

“I am the real charm boy,” he whispered, “and nothing will hurt me. Ganassi, the wonder man, is with me. Forward!”

Courageous and determined, the boy pressed on. A muffled cry resounded through the passage. Flattening himself against the slimy wall, Piang listened. He could not imagine what had made the sound, and he unsheathed his knife. At times he followed the bed of the stream, wading ankle-deep in the water, but the slippery stones turned or tripped him, and when he stepped on something that moved, he groaned and jumped to the narrow shelf-like ledge that overhung the water.

A faint light stole through the gloom. Was it the end? But surely not, he had not gone more than a few hundred yards. He hurried forward. Brighter, clearer, it grew. Suddenly the brook made a sharp turn, and he found himself in a high, vaulted chamber, sparkling and shimmering in the light from above. Piang was so glad to see daylight again, faint as it was, that he did not stop to consider new dangers, and eagerly ran forward. He searched the sides for support on which to climb to the crevices, but the rotting vines and moss that lined the walls gave at his touch, and he fell back discouraged.Something crumbled under his body, and he discovered to his horror that he had fallen on a skeleton. A man had been here before him, then? But closer examination proved the bones to be those of apackda(ape). Snakes and worms wriggled out of the skeleton, and Piang shrank back in fear. The dread hamadryad leered at him; poisonous toads and lizards scurried for cover. How many more of these creatures would he encounter before escaping from this dungeon? Would Ganassi protect him and lead him safely through? Something seemed to tell the boy that he was safe and with renewed faith, he prepared to continue the journey.

Everywhere the beauty of nature asserted itself. Pale green ferns seemed to hold out beseeching arms toward the light; moss crept upward hopefully, softening the rough ledges with its velvet touch. Great stalagmites and stalactites, smothered in the embrace of lichen and creepers, accepted the homage of the plant life indifferently. Piang was blind to the sublimity of his surroundings, as he hurried on. Carefully he stepped on the ledge; warily he held out hisbolo to ward off surprises. A sudden hiss made him leap into the stream, and shuddering, he plunged on, down the black path. Would the stream lead him to the sunlight again? Or was he burrowing into the depths of the earth, never again to breathe the air of life?

Finally, after almost giving up hope, he heard the distant call of a mina-bird. The jungle! Frantically he worked his way forward, wondering if the mate to the sentinel at the other opening would bar his passage. Daylight! Faintly, at the end of the long tunnel, he could see the blessed green of the forest, but his cry of joy was stilled; his hope of safety vanished. Again that mournful cry echoed through the cavern, and he gave himself up for lost. The souls of the wicked were pursuing him, would capture him, and make him pay for intruding upon them! Piang reeled as he heard a splash in the water behind him; he caught at something for support; it writhed out of his hand. Paralyzed with fear, the boy scarcely breathed. On came the pursuer, stealthily, warily. Reaching the end of his endurance, Piang wheeled, and faced the cave.Something paused, whined, and a streak flew past him. The fetid odor of a living creature brought him to his senses, and his anxious eyes discerned the outline of a civet-cat making its way to the opening.

As he struggled through those last few rods, Piang thought he had never worked so hard in his life, but finally he lay in the sunshine, safe, free, and unafraid.

For two days Piang struggled upward. Everything was strange to him; the growths and trees were different from those of the lowlands. Scrub palms, covered with small buds, on which the dread packda feeds, began to appear, and Piang anxiously scanned the trees. There is no creature in the jungle that has the strength of the packda. Only the crocodile and the python are foolish enough to attack it, but the crocodile’s jaws are torn asunder, and the python is clawed to pieces.

“Piang!” The name echoed and vibrated through the forest. Who had called him? Trembling with fear, filled with apprehension,Piang took refuge in a tree. From the branches he scanned the surrounding forest. Was a spirit following him from the haunted cave, or was it the hated Sicto?

“Piang!” It came softly this time, as if from a greater distance. The underbrush moved, and Piang prayed that it might not be a spirit come to destroy him. The bush rustled, cracked, and parted as a dazzling white head made its appearance. Piang shut his eyes, dreading what was to come. Almost swooning, he slipped, lost his hold, and went crashing through the branches. Stunned by the fall, it was sometime before he regained consciousness, but the first thing he was aware of, was a hot breath on his face. Slowly he opened his eyes, wondering if he was dreaming. There, bending over him, was a marvelous white fawn.

Startled and ashamed, Piang looked at the lovely thing. He put out his hand and the animal laid her soft muzzle in his palm, allowing him to caress her. What did she want? Were some of her babies in trouble? With his arm about the fawn’s neck, Piang allowed himself tobe led along a well defined path, trodden by many feet.

“Piang!” Again his name was called, but for some reason fear had been banished from his heart, and he advanced without a qualm. Presently they came to one of the numerous jungle clearings. The sun did not burn at this altitude, and Piang took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air. A flapping of wings startled him, and before he could prevent, a brilliant mina-bird circled his head and gently lighted on his shoulder. A soft white mist was floating around and below him. The clouds! He was in them, “the breath of the wind,” and he thought that this must be fairyland.

“Piang!” This time the voice was near at hand. Both creatures responded to the call, and Piang suffered himself to be led onward. The fawn stopped near a gigantic banian-tree. It was the only tree in the clearing and spread over more than an acre of ground, enticing the surrounding creepers and orchids to its shelter. Piang had seen these trees before, but never such a large one. The banian is like a huge tent;each branch sends shoots to the ground, which take root and become additional trunks, and year after year the tree increases its acreage; hundreds of men can find shelter under these jungle temples.

“Piang!” The voice came from within the tree. Astonished, Piang watched the mina-bird flit through the sunlight and disappear into the banya. The fawn paused, looked gravely into the boy’s eyes, and with stately mien, walked into the tree.

“Thank you, my little friends, for bringing Piang to Ganassi,” said the voice from within.

Ganassi! So this was the haunt! This lovely natural dwelling, the dread Ganassi’s home! Expectantly, Piang waited. Was Ganassi a man, or was he only a voice, the heart of this banian-tree? While he stood gazing at the tree, waiting for the spirit to address him, or the man to appear, he was startled by a black, shiny head, and the loathsome coils of a python, writhing in the branches. The serpent! Piang had heard that it could fascinate animals, keeping themprisoner by its mystic powers, until ready to devour them. Ganassi was, then, an evil spirit in the form of a serpent! Piang uttered a low cry.

“So, my little pet, you have frightened Piang, the charm boy! You must not do that.”

The snake, responding to the voice, stuck its head through the foliage and slipped from sight.

The voice! The voice! It had called him the charm boy! Piang’s fear abated, and he said tremblingly:

“O great Ganassi, will you not show yourself to me, Piang?” Breathlessly the boy listened. The branches swayed, parted, and the mina-bird floated through. The python, head erect, followed, and next came the graceful white form of his first friend. On its neck it supported a weird creature. Bent and wrinkled, was the little old man; a few strands of white hair flowed from his chin, and his eyebrows and lashes had almost disappeared. Toothless, almost hairless as he was, there was that about Ganassi that precluded horror, for his sparkling eyes were kind, and his mouth gently curved into a smile. Piang fell onhis knees. The hermit surrounded by his pets, advanced and raised the boy.

“My little Piang! So you have come to Ganassi at last. He has known for many years that you would come. Long before you were born he knew, and his heart is glad to welcome you.”

“Is it true, O wise man, that I am the real charm boy, and that I shall lead Kali Pandapatan’s tribe to victory?”

“You have spoken, my son. It was over you, not the impostor, Sicto, that the mystic star hovered on the night of your birth.”

At the mention of his enemy’s name, Piang quickly scanned the surrounding jungle, but Ganassi’s soft chuckle reassured him.

“Have no fear, child. Sicto can never harm you, nor will he ever reach Ganassi. The python would smother him; the mina-bird would peck out his eyes; the gentle fawn would lead him astray.”

“How do you know all this, O Ganassi?”

“The question shall be answered, Piang, because you are charm boy, but should other lipsutter it, they should never speak again. Enter.”

Ganassi held back the slender trunk-roots of the banian. Curiously, the boy looked about. All the wonder of the jungle seemed centered in this sacred spot. A forest of stems and aerial roots greeted his eyes; from overhead the graceful and rare Vanda lowii sent inquisitive blooms to caress his cheek; they mingled with his dark hair, scenting the air with their strange fragrance. From tree-ferns, nestling in the branches, tiny heads peeped out, and little feathered creatures chirruped a welcome. A civet-cat was lazily stroking its face with one paw. Something large and hairy stirred on a nest of dried grass, and sleepily a full-grown packda stretched himself and gazed at Piang. The python approached it, and a hairy paw was extended; his snakeship coiled up beside the ape, and the mina-bird flew to the ape’s shoulder.

Piang could scarcely believe his eyes. Here all was at peace, and natural enemies forgot to fight and kill.

“Piang, all these creatures are going to be your friends.”

Piang seated himself on the soft turf opposite Ganassi; the fawn nosed her head under Piang’s arm and sank by his side.

“The charm that I am about to give you will protect you from tempest, danger, and deceit: no storm can destroy you; no animal can creep upon you unaware, and no man can lie to you. You will become the wise man of Mindanao, the guide of your people, the heart of the island.”

Solemnly the boy followed the words of the old man.

“You shall be taught all the truths of the nation, and you shall pass them along to the generations.”

Piang’s face brightened. At last he was to know the answers to many puzzling questions.

“Ask what you will, boy. I will answer you truthfully and justly, telling you the things as they are, as they have been since the day of creation.”

“Why, O Ganassi, must Mohammedans never eat the flesh of the wild boar? It is forbidden that we touch pork, yet the Christians find it good.” Ganassi’s brow clouded:

“Have you never heard of the Christian’s God? Do you not know that we hate Christians because they believe a Son of God could be killed by man? They call him Christ, but we know that the Almighty is Toohan, omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient. Their prophet Isa [Jesus] once visited the great Mahomet, and when Mahomet demanded that he divine what was in the room beyond, Isa refused, saying that he had no wish to show power.

“‘Answer correctly, or you pay for it with your life!’ thundered Mahomet. Isa then replied that he had two strange animals in the room.

“‘Wrong!’ cried Mahomet. ‘You shall now be killed. My two beloved grandchildren are behind those doors!’ but when they were flung open, two filthy boars ran out; Isa had changed the children into pigs! And so, Piang, no true Mohammedan will eat the flesh of the wild boar. Beware, lest you ever let a Christian hear this story; it is not for us to acknowledge that Isa is greater than Mahomet.”

Piang was shocked. No wonder his people abstained from the flesh of the boar.

“Can you tell me what makes the sea rise and fall, and why the tides rush in and flow out again?” asked Piang.

A smile broke over Ganassi’s leathery features.

“In a far distant sea lives a giant crab; when he goes into his hole, the water is pushed out, and when he comes forth for food, the water rushes in.” It was so simple that Piang laughed heartily. The mina-bird, startled, squawked an admonition and fluttered to Piang’s lap.

“Where do we go when we die,” asked the inquisitive boy.

Ganassi scouted the Christian’s belief that heaven is in the clouds. Were they not in the clouds now?

On its neck it supported a weird creatureOn its neck it supported a weird creature

On its neck it supported a weird creature

“When a child is born, the soul enters the body through the opening left in the skull. This hole soon closes, confining the spirit within. When death comes to a household in Moroland, have you not seen the master of the house mount to the roof and remain there through the night?Well, that is to prevent the evil spirit, Bal-Bal, from entering. This dread creature sails through the air like a flying Lemur (monkey), tears the thatch from the roof with his terrible curved nails, scatters the defenders, and licks up the body with his forked tongue of fire. The soul of this deceased never reaches heaven. Your charm, Piang, will ward him off.” The boy sat, mouth open, eyes staring. “A soul is guided to a cave that leads deep down in the earth, and there, between two gigantic trees, stands Taliakoo, a giant, who tends the eternal fires. Taliakoo inquires of the newcomer what he has to say for himself, and to the surprise of the soul, something within it answers. Conscience, the witness, replies, and according to the decree of this strange arbiter, the fate of the soul is decided. If nothing but ill can be said for it, it is pitched into the fire; if it has been good, it is allowed to pass on to the abode of the blessed. The soul that meets with neither fate, is punished according to its sins: if it has lied, its mouth pains; if it has been a thief, its hands itch and burn, and eventually, after the periodof punishment is over, it precedes to heaven, cleansed of its sins.”

The big ape, sleeping soundly, emitted a snore so human, that Piang laughed.

“Why does the packda look so like a man, Ganassi?”

“Because he oncewasa man,” was the startling reply. “He was lazy and, instead of working, climbed trees and hunted minas (monkey-nuts). A companion, becoming vexed, uttered a curse on him and threw a stick at him. These things clung to the lazy man: the stick became a tail, and the curse deprived him of speech. Ashamed of himself, he and his family took to the trees, never to return.”

Many questions were put to the wise old hermit, and his ready answers astonished, but satisfied, Piang. Night came on, and the strange company lay down together under the shelter of the banian and slept.

Piang was very happy. He had reached Ganassi, was proclaimed the real charm boy, and was at last to receive the glorious charm. Somesaid it was a star tossed to Moroland by the Creator, that it was the emblem of power, and that he who wore it would be filled with a divine understanding. Others believed it to be the great diamond of Borneo, captured many years before from the pirates of that fierce land. Piang did not care which it proved to be, as long as it shone and sparkled with beauty. All agreed that its brilliance dazzled the eye, that its magnificence was unrivaled. Ganassi had waited a hundred years for the charm boy who was destined to wear it, and at last the star had proclaimed Piang to be the lucky boy. Through Piang’s dreams flitted the visions of shimmering jewels of gold, and the happy smile on the boy’s lips made old Ganassi’s heart glad.

“Up, up with you, sleepyhead!” called Ganassi. “The sun will catch you napping if you do not hurry.”

Piang sleepily rubbed his eyes and sat up. Horror and fright seized him as he beheld the body of the python curled up beside him and thepackda contemplating him with indifference. From the doorway Ganassi smilingly watched him.

“Come, my subjects are assembling; they will all assist in the ceremony of the sacred charm.” The charm! Piang remembered and jumped to his feet. Creatures from all over the mountain were answering Ganassi’s weird call; the air was full of fluttering birds, and monkeys came swinging toward them. Ganassi gave to each a sweet or a fruit.

“Piang, no dato can boast of a grander court than Ganassi, eh?” chuckled the old man.

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 animalshave 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 tellno 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 AdventureThe Fire TreeThe 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 possibilityof 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 andothers 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 thehoney 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 PanditaAsinled 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 brilliantlystriped 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 thesiwaka(tribute) to the sultan at Cotabato. The fire-treehas 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 andcomoties(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.“The boom! We must cut it!”“The boom! We must cut it!”“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 theleaders 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 wouldnot 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 resistedthe 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 pointedsignificantly 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, nothingcould 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. GloomilyPiang 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, therewas a murmuring protest. Anger blazed in Piang’s eyes.“Am I not charm boy?” he demanded. “Any one who refuses to obey me will be thrown to the crocodiles!” Gradually the dominant nature overruled their timidities, and the protests subsided. Following Piang’s directions, strips of bamboo were cut, and the charm boy constructed light frames for his feet. They looked like snow-shoes, and when he bound one securely to each foot and jumped lightly to the bank, there was a cry of surprise. Piang, the wonderful, was indeed sent by Allah to guide them!In a twinkling each Moro was supplied with similar mud-shoes, and like giant land-crabs, they flitted off across the marsh. Too wise to begin before reconnoitering, Piang led his men to the banks of the stream below to Big Bend. After hasty calculations he set them to work digging toward the head waters, following a line of ratan which he stretched to guide them.Faster, faster flew the scoops and broad knives; deeper, wider grew the ditch that was to form a new river-bed. Piang was everywhere. Heflew about on his light frames as lightly as a faun, directing the construction of new tools, calculating and measuring for the ditch.Once he heard a call from the man guarding the rafts. A troop of wild hogs, attracted by the comoties, was trying to reach the rafts. Piang lighted a torch and hurled it among them. Crocodiles lurked near, and he ordered torches kept burning to frighten them also.New difficulties confronted Piang. Would the water not at first rush through the ditch with such force that the rafts would be dashed to pieces? He held a branch in the current; it was torn from his grasp. With great foresight, he ordered all the floats to be taken up the river and securely moored. Back to the ditch he flew. Yes, yes, it was going to be successful! Before the attack was made by Kali Pandapatan, Piang would have the rafts through the cut-off, safely on their journey to the estuary. How surprised the dato would be when Piang advanced against the enemy from the other side of the Big Bend! He laughed softly, hugging himself in boyish delight.Away he pattered toward some men who were apparently in difficulty.“Halamantek!” (“Leeches!”) they called. They were pulling the slothful creatures off each other, but as soon as they freed themselves from the pests, more fell from above or crept up from the mud. Piang had foreseen this difficulty and had supplied himself with a small gourd filled with cocoanut oil, strongly saturated with cinchona (quinine). Offering some of his small store to the men, they gratefully rubbed the mixture into their flesh and bent to their task again. Piang exhorted them to work, warning them if the ditch was not completed before moonrise, all would be lost, and off he danced blending in with the night and its secrets like a picturesquepampahilep(jungle imp).Only Moros could have accomplished so difficult a task in the dark. With a will they sturdily plied the crude tools and before the blackness of the night had been lifted by the rising moon, the excited little party was crowding around Piang as he examined the few remaining feet to be accomplished. Like a generalmeeting a crisis, Piang sharply gave his orders:“Tooloowee, take your pole and stand on the far side of the ditch. When I give the signal, push the dyke with all your might.” He stationed another powerful Moro opposite Tooloowee.“Bungao, do you hasten to the rafts and prepare to resist the first flood that will sweep through the ditch.”When all was ready Piang raised his hand and the struggle began. Little by little the soft mud was worked away, and the current, feeling the banks weaken, seemed to lose interest in its natural bed. At first the stream only caressed its new-found outlet, but gradually it concentrated its forces, and, with a mighty rush, attacked the slight remaining resistance and went thundering off into the ditch. A smothered cry went up from the Moros:“Piang! Piang!” How they loved their wise little charm boy!But the work was not yet completed. Piang let go his anchorage and headed for the mouth ofthe ditch. The water was rapidly widening the work of their hands, but in places the cut-off was barely wide enough to let the long slender floats by, and the water was rushing through with terrific force. The moon trembled on the brink of the jungle. Would they reach the other side in time to aid Kali? Suppose he was driven back before Piang and his men could attack from the other side?“Ala! ala!” (“Quickly! quickly!”) Piang called softly. His raft came up with a sudden jerk, almost throwing him into the seething, muddy torrent. Other rafts bumped into his, and soon a blockade was forming as the swift current bore them down upon him. Piang cut and slashed at the banks, tearing away protruding vines and accumulating driftwood. The moon, the moon, would it wait? Frantically he toiled while Tooloowee held off the other rafts with his long pole. When Piang’s float was finally released, it bounded joyously along, nosing first one bank, then the other. The river! He could see it! Only a few rods more!At the mouth of the ditch there was more trouble.Mud and debris had collected along the sides, but these were quickly worked through and they passed into the main river. Little short of a miracle had been performed. The ditch was growing wider and deeper every moment and judging from the enormous flow of water, it would not be long before the river deserted its circuitous route in favor of this direct one.“Quick! quick!” whispered Piang. “Bungao, bind the siwaka rafts together and head for Cotabato. We will overtake you before sunrise.” A faint cry reached them. Kali had begun the attack. In an agony of suspense the brave Moros worked their way up toward the Big Bend. Suddenly Piang grasped Tooloowee’s arm and pointed toward a streak that ran across the river.“The boom! We must cut it!” They made a dash toward the obstacle that stood in Kali’s path, but an arrow whizzed by their heads.“Tooloowee, we have been discovered. I go to cut the way!” and before the astonished Tooloowee could prevent, Piang had dived into the water and disappeared.“Piang, the crocodiles, the crocodiles!” wailedTooloowee, but the charm boy could not hear as he slipped up the muddy river, swimming easily under water. Just as Kali was preparing to retreat, driven back by the fierce storm of arrows, he gave the signal that had been agreed upon. Three loud calls in imitation of the mina-bird went wailing through the night. What was Kali’s surprise to hear the answer a few yards in front of him! And what was that dark shape bobbing up and down on the boom?While he watched, amazed, the big clumsy logs divided, and swung slowly out, leaving the channel clear. Piang had severed the ratan thongs.“Lééééé lelele ouiiiiii!” crashed through the night, and Kali recognized his tribal war-cry.“Piang! Piang!” he cried. The dark shape, clinging to the drifting boom answered, and Kali rushed toward it. Before the enemy could gather their scattered wits, the whole party was sweeping by, on toward freedom. As Kali bore down on Piang, the boy raised himself to meet the raft. It was coming at a terrific rate, and he feared it would knock him off the boom; measuringthe distance, he prepared to leap. On came the raft, Kali leaning far over the side, arms extended to grab the boy. When Kali was only a few yards off, Piang screamed:“Boia! boia!” (“Crocodile! crocodile!”) The men on the raft saw the water stir and hurled spear and arrow, but they glanced off the scaly hide. It was a race with death, and what a miserable death for Piang, their idol! The boy grew cold and sick as he waited. Suddenly the raft paused, held in check by Kali’s pole. Piang almost fainted. What was his chief doing? In a moment he realized that the quick action had saved his life. The raft swerved, bumped against the crocodile, and came between it and Piang. The next moment Piang was in Kali’s arms.In the light of the gray dawn, Sicto watched these two as they gazed into each other’s eyes; they swept triumphantly by, heedless of flying arrows. The radiant fire-tree blooms still clustered around Piang’s head, and his sacred charm gleamed in the early light. Firmly believing that spirits had aided Piang in his remarkable feat,Sicto trembled with fear, and, with a last glance at the victorious charm boy, he turned and fled into the jungle.Wonderingly, Kali Pandapatan and his followers viewed the new cut-off as they floated by. Amazed, they listened to the marvelous tale. Old Dato Kali Pandapatan laid his hands once again on his favorite’s head:“Little brother,” he said, “this shall be known as Piang’s Cut-off. Some day you will be the greatest dato in Mindanao.”

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 possibilityof 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 andothers 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 thehoney 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 PanditaAsinled 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 brilliantlystriped 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 thesiwaka(tribute) to the sultan at Cotabato. The fire-treehas 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 andcomoties(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.

“The boom! We must cut it!”“The boom! We must cut it!”

“The boom! We must cut it!”

“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 theleaders 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 wouldnot 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 resistedthe 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 pointedsignificantly 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, nothingcould 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. GloomilyPiang 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, therewas a murmuring protest. Anger blazed in Piang’s eyes.

“Am I not charm boy?” he demanded. “Any one who refuses to obey me will be thrown to the crocodiles!” Gradually the dominant nature overruled their timidities, and the protests subsided. Following Piang’s directions, strips of bamboo were cut, and the charm boy constructed light frames for his feet. They looked like snow-shoes, and when he bound one securely to each foot and jumped lightly to the bank, there was a cry of surprise. Piang, the wonderful, was indeed sent by Allah to guide them!

In a twinkling each Moro was supplied with similar mud-shoes, and like giant land-crabs, they flitted off across the marsh. Too wise to begin before reconnoitering, Piang led his men to the banks of the stream below to Big Bend. After hasty calculations he set them to work digging toward the head waters, following a line of ratan which he stretched to guide them.

Faster, faster flew the scoops and broad knives; deeper, wider grew the ditch that was to form a new river-bed. Piang was everywhere. Heflew about on his light frames as lightly as a faun, directing the construction of new tools, calculating and measuring for the ditch.

Once he heard a call from the man guarding the rafts. A troop of wild hogs, attracted by the comoties, was trying to reach the rafts. Piang lighted a torch and hurled it among them. Crocodiles lurked near, and he ordered torches kept burning to frighten them also.

New difficulties confronted Piang. Would the water not at first rush through the ditch with such force that the rafts would be dashed to pieces? He held a branch in the current; it was torn from his grasp. With great foresight, he ordered all the floats to be taken up the river and securely moored. Back to the ditch he flew. Yes, yes, it was going to be successful! Before the attack was made by Kali Pandapatan, Piang would have the rafts through the cut-off, safely on their journey to the estuary. How surprised the dato would be when Piang advanced against the enemy from the other side of the Big Bend! He laughed softly, hugging himself in boyish delight.

Away he pattered toward some men who were apparently in difficulty.

“Halamantek!” (“Leeches!”) they called. They were pulling the slothful creatures off each other, but as soon as they freed themselves from the pests, more fell from above or crept up from the mud. Piang had foreseen this difficulty and had supplied himself with a small gourd filled with cocoanut oil, strongly saturated with cinchona (quinine). Offering some of his small store to the men, they gratefully rubbed the mixture into their flesh and bent to their task again. Piang exhorted them to work, warning them if the ditch was not completed before moonrise, all would be lost, and off he danced blending in with the night and its secrets like a picturesquepampahilep(jungle imp).

Only Moros could have accomplished so difficult a task in the dark. With a will they sturdily plied the crude tools and before the blackness of the night had been lifted by the rising moon, the excited little party was crowding around Piang as he examined the few remaining feet to be accomplished. Like a generalmeeting a crisis, Piang sharply gave his orders:

“Tooloowee, take your pole and stand on the far side of the ditch. When I give the signal, push the dyke with all your might.” He stationed another powerful Moro opposite Tooloowee.

“Bungao, do you hasten to the rafts and prepare to resist the first flood that will sweep through the ditch.”

When all was ready Piang raised his hand and the struggle began. Little by little the soft mud was worked away, and the current, feeling the banks weaken, seemed to lose interest in its natural bed. At first the stream only caressed its new-found outlet, but gradually it concentrated its forces, and, with a mighty rush, attacked the slight remaining resistance and went thundering off into the ditch. A smothered cry went up from the Moros:

“Piang! Piang!” How they loved their wise little charm boy!

But the work was not yet completed. Piang let go his anchorage and headed for the mouth ofthe ditch. The water was rapidly widening the work of their hands, but in places the cut-off was barely wide enough to let the long slender floats by, and the water was rushing through with terrific force. The moon trembled on the brink of the jungle. Would they reach the other side in time to aid Kali? Suppose he was driven back before Piang and his men could attack from the other side?

“Ala! ala!” (“Quickly! quickly!”) Piang called softly. His raft came up with a sudden jerk, almost throwing him into the seething, muddy torrent. Other rafts bumped into his, and soon a blockade was forming as the swift current bore them down upon him. Piang cut and slashed at the banks, tearing away protruding vines and accumulating driftwood. The moon, the moon, would it wait? Frantically he toiled while Tooloowee held off the other rafts with his long pole. When Piang’s float was finally released, it bounded joyously along, nosing first one bank, then the other. The river! He could see it! Only a few rods more!

At the mouth of the ditch there was more trouble.Mud and debris had collected along the sides, but these were quickly worked through and they passed into the main river. Little short of a miracle had been performed. The ditch was growing wider and deeper every moment and judging from the enormous flow of water, it would not be long before the river deserted its circuitous route in favor of this direct one.

“Quick! quick!” whispered Piang. “Bungao, bind the siwaka rafts together and head for Cotabato. We will overtake you before sunrise.” A faint cry reached them. Kali had begun the attack. In an agony of suspense the brave Moros worked their way up toward the Big Bend. Suddenly Piang grasped Tooloowee’s arm and pointed toward a streak that ran across the river.

“The boom! We must cut it!” They made a dash toward the obstacle that stood in Kali’s path, but an arrow whizzed by their heads.

“Tooloowee, we have been discovered. I go to cut the way!” and before the astonished Tooloowee could prevent, Piang had dived into the water and disappeared.

“Piang, the crocodiles, the crocodiles!” wailedTooloowee, but the charm boy could not hear as he slipped up the muddy river, swimming easily under water. Just as Kali was preparing to retreat, driven back by the fierce storm of arrows, he gave the signal that had been agreed upon. Three loud calls in imitation of the mina-bird went wailing through the night. What was Kali’s surprise to hear the answer a few yards in front of him! And what was that dark shape bobbing up and down on the boom?

While he watched, amazed, the big clumsy logs divided, and swung slowly out, leaving the channel clear. Piang had severed the ratan thongs.

“Lééééé lelele ouiiiiii!” crashed through the night, and Kali recognized his tribal war-cry.

“Piang! Piang!” he cried. The dark shape, clinging to the drifting boom answered, and Kali rushed toward it. Before the enemy could gather their scattered wits, the whole party was sweeping by, on toward freedom. As Kali bore down on Piang, the boy raised himself to meet the raft. It was coming at a terrific rate, and he feared it would knock him off the boom; measuringthe distance, he prepared to leap. On came the raft, Kali leaning far over the side, arms extended to grab the boy. When Kali was only a few yards off, Piang screamed:

“Boia! boia!” (“Crocodile! crocodile!”) The men on the raft saw the water stir and hurled spear and arrow, but they glanced off the scaly hide. It was a race with death, and what a miserable death for Piang, their idol! The boy grew cold and sick as he waited. Suddenly the raft paused, held in check by Kali’s pole. Piang almost fainted. What was his chief doing? In a moment he realized that the quick action had saved his life. The raft swerved, bumped against the crocodile, and came between it and Piang. The next moment Piang was in Kali’s arms.

In the light of the gray dawn, Sicto watched these two as they gazed into each other’s eyes; they swept triumphantly by, heedless of flying arrows. The radiant fire-tree blooms still clustered around Piang’s head, and his sacred charm gleamed in the early light. Firmly believing that spirits had aided Piang in his remarkable feat,Sicto trembled with fear, and, with a last glance at the victorious charm boy, he turned and fled into the jungle.

Wonderingly, Kali Pandapatan and his followers viewed the new cut-off as they floated by. Amazed, they listened to the marvelous tale. Old Dato Kali Pandapatan laid his hands once again on his favorite’s head:

“Little brother,” he said, “this shall be known as Piang’s Cut-off. Some day you will be the greatest dato in Mindanao.”

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