At breakfast the next morning Rick and Scotty were subjected to an amused scrutiny by Tony. He ticked off the items on his fingers.
"Rick has a slight mouse under one eye, and his left arm seems a little stiff. I noticed that he sat down gingerly, and that there is a very pronounced bruise on the side of his jaw. Hands would indicate that he has been playing with a rather rough cat, except that I happen to know he was scrambling around in some cadena de amor.
"Scotty is also wearing a mouse under one eye, perhaps a little more prominent than Rick's. And he has a long scratch behind the left ear, obviously caused by some sharp instrument."
The archaeologist grinned. "If you do that to each other, what would you do to an enemy?"
The boys grinned back. "Can't tell you until we catch an enemy," Rick replied. "Actually, most of my terrible wounds came from falling down."
"Same here," Scotty agreed. "And that sharp instrument you mentioned was the edge of a tin can."
Tony spooned succulent orange-colored papaya melon with appreciation. "Have either of you figured out what our Ifugao friend—let's assume that he was an Ifugao—wanted in my room last night?"
"The only answer I can think of is the obvious one," Rick answered. "He probably thought we have a map or something showing the location of the golden skull. He wanted it."
"I accept the hypothesis only because I haven't a better one," Tony said. "How about you, Scotty?"
Scotty shrugged. "Can't buy it. But on the other hand, I don't have any theory. Wish Sherlock Holmes were here."
"We could use him," Briotti admitted. "Well, what's the program for today?"
"Off to Baguio," Rick replied. "But first, we'll have to rent or buy a truck. The plane can't carry us plus our gear, and we'll need the truck to take our stuff into the mountains. Scotty and I can do that. What are your plans?"
"There's an American anthropologist here I'd like to see. He's internationally known. Name of J. Walter McGowan. I made a tentative appointment yesterday. I'm sure he will have some information on the Ifugaos that will be of interest. Probably Okola has included in his papers on the subject everything McGowan knows, but I'd like to talk with him just to get the feel of things, so to speak."
"Then why don't you do that this morning?" Rick suggested. "We'll get the truck, load the gear, and get ready to take off."
"Wonder where that Filipino Angel is?" Scotty asked. "Wasn't he supposed to be here this morning?"
"I don't think Okola specified a time," Tony replied. "And the morning is still pretty young."
That was true enough, Rick thought. Besides, he had the impression that the Filipinos, although they followed Western customs, had the Far Easterners' disregard of time.
"If the Angel doesn't arrive, one of us will have to drive the truck to Baguio," he said. "I had hoped he would take the truck, then we three could fly."
Scotty asked, with deceptive casualness, "Tony, what do you think of Dr. Okola?"
Tony answered promptly. "A first-rate scientist and a distinguished gentleman besides. Why?"
"Do you trust him?"
"Implicitly. We're not dealing with a stranger here, Scotty. Okola's name has been known to me since I first became interested in archaeology. We have many mutual friends, and he has been very helpful and courteous since this project was first proposed. Yes, I trust him."
"That's good," Scotty said, "since we're buying the services of this Angel purely on his say-so. We'll have to trust Angel. We have no choice."
"True. I'm prepared to trust him, simply because Okola said we could."
Rick nodded agreement. "I'll take him on faith, too." He had learned not to be overtrustful in far places among strangers, but he agreed with Tony's estimate of Okola. The man, he believed, was just what he seemed to be—a Filipino scientist and gentleman. He had liked Okola.
"All right," Scotty said. "I'll go along. Okola seemed like a realcompadre. But how about Lazada? Do you trust him?"
Tony considered. He finished his papaya, then tackled a mango salad, an unusual but delicious breakfast dish. "I don'tdistrust him," he said finally. "That's negative, but the best I can do. He's not the type of individual who appeals to me very much, but without further evidence I'd hesitate to mark him untrustworthy."
"I have a hunch," Rick said. "My hunch says that Mr. Lazada is crooked as a helical coil. I wouldn't trust him anywhere, any time."
Scotty agreed. "I would have said he's no straighter than the cutting edge of a saw. And he's just about that sharp, too. Trouble with you is, Tony, you're too civilized. You always see the best in everything, including people."
"Don't you?" Tony asked mildly.
The boys chuckled. Of course they did, and Tony knew it. But on an expedition like this, their suspicions came to the fore and they automatically distrusted everyone. Lack of distrust had caused them much trouble on other expeditions, and had come close to costing them their lives.
The headwaiter approached. "There is a man to see Dr. Briotti. Shall I have him wait?"
"That must be Okola's man," Tony said. "No, please bring him here."
The three watched with interest as the headwaiter went to the door and returned leading a short, dark man.
Rick examined him with interest. At first glance the Filipino seemed quite short, as so many of his race are. Then Rick's discerning eyes saw the breadth of his shoulders. And he saw that the man wasn't really very short; he only seemed to be because of his extraordinary shoulder width.
The man was dressed simply but neatly in typical Filipino style with white trousers and a white shirt. The shirt had no tail, but was cut square at the bottom like a sport shirt. The collar was sport-shirt style, too, worn open, and disclosed a muscular throat.
The man bowed slightly. "Dr. Briotti?"
"I am Briotti." He indicated the boys. "Mr. Brant and Mr. Scott. And you?"
"I am Angel Manotok, at your service. Dr. Okola said that you needed a driver, guide, and general handyman. He said that he had recommended me."
"Yes. Please sit down. Will you have breakfast?"
"Some coffee, perhaps. I have already had breakfast."
Angel Manotok had a strong, square face. Rick thought that he looked very much like an American Indian. His hair was thick and very black, and freshly cut into a sort of crew cut.
"You will want to see my papers," Angel said.
He produced a wallet and extracted several documents. The Spindrifters examined them. There was a Philippine driver's license, a United States Army driver's license indicating that the bearer was qualified to drive military vehicles, an honorable discharge from the Philippine Scouts, which had been a part of the United States Army, and a certificate from the Philippine Public Health Service certifying that Angel Manotok, as of three weeks ago, had been X-rayed and found free of tuberculosis.
"So you were in the Philippine Scouts," Scotty remarked.
Angel grinned, showing strong white teeth. "I have been many things, including a scout. I have also been a lumberjack in Zambales Province, a gold miner in Baguio, and a farmer in Mindanao."
"You speak remarkably good English," Tony commented.
"Thank you, sir. You will notice from my discharge that I was a sergeant in the Philippine Scouts. I had the advantage of American military schools. I also attended college—the Ateneo de Manila, which has American Jesuit priests as teachers. I did not graduate, unfortunately, but I did learn your language rather better than most Filipinos."
Rick liked Angel at once. He nodded at Tony and Scotty, and they nodded back. Tony at once began discussing salary and general arrangements with Angel.
When they had reached an agreement, Angel grinned. "Now I can tell you. Since Dr. Okola was very anxious for me to go, I was prepared to work for you just for food. But a salary is much better."
"Much," Tony agreed. "We prefer it that way, too, although I appreciate your loyalty to Dr. Okola."
"Where is your baggage?" Rick asked.
"I left it outside at the desk. I haven't much to carry along. Just work clothes and a few tools."
"Where can we get a truck?" Scotty inquired.
"What kind would you like?"
Rick answered. "An Army six-by-six, if possible."
"That can be done. Rent or buy?"
"Which do you suggest?"
"Rent. Let me do it for you. I can bargain much better than you can."
"Fine," Rick agreed. "We'll go with you and watch."
Angel shook his head. "Better not. If the dealer knows the truck is for Americans, the price will go up. If he thinks it is for a Filipino, the price will be low. Let me get a truck—I'll be sure it's a good one—and meet you here."
Rick considered. "No, let's make another plan. I want to spend a little more time checking my plane. Suppose you get the truck, then meet us at Hangar 18 at the airport. We can come back here and load after lunch. Then we can fly to Baguio while you follow with the truck."
"Have you ever driven to Baguio?" Scotty asked.
"Many times. It takes between six and seven hours, depending on the traffic. Some parts of the road aren't very good, and traffic piles up."
"Then if you leave at noon, you should be in Baguio at dinnertime."
"Yes. Shall I go now? I will need a hundred pesos. That is for a deposit on the truck."
Tony opened his billfold. "Let's see. That's fifty dollars. Is American money all right?"
Angel smiled. "American money is always all right, everywhere. I will get a truck and then come to the airport. Yes?"
"Yes. And glad to have you with us," Rick said.
Scotty and Tony echoed his remark and they shook hands all around. Angel tucked the pesos into his wallet and hurried out.
"Good deal," Scotty said. "He's a lot of man. Notice those shoulders? And his hands show he's used to work. I like him."
Rick and Tony did, too, and said so. "I feel better about him going off alone with our stuff," Rick said.
"Except for the SS," Scotty added, referring to the earth scanner. "You heard what he said about the road to Baguio? That's a delicate gadget and we don't want it banged around too much."
"You've got a point," Rick agreed. "Suppose we take it with us in the plane?"
"Good idea." Scotty rose. "Tony, we'll go on to the airport and meet you here about eleven thirty. Okay?"
"That will give me plenty of time." The scientist hesitated. "I know you'll take care of yourselves. Remember that we have a sniper after us. Not to mention an Ifugao with no palate. Incidentally, I suspect that our friend Angel has a little Igorot or Ifugao blood. Did you notice that he resembles the American Indian?"
"I did," Rick said. "Would it be unusual for him to have Igorot blood?"
"Not particularly. There is some intermarriage of Christian Filipinos with the pagans. Also, Angel may have some Chinese blood, which would account for the unusually high cheekbones and rather flat face. He doesn't have the Mongoloid eye fold which gives the appearance of slant eyes, but that means nothing. Many Filipinos with Chinese blood lack it."
"What are the Filipinos, anyway?" Scotty asked as they walked to the door.
"Originally, the Filipinos were of almost pure Malay blood. But there was much intermarriage with the Chinese and the Spanish, and now, particularly around Manila,mestizos, which is what persons of mixed race are called, are very common."
Tony hailed a taxi at the door and the boys went to their room. Rick had put a thread across the bottom of the casement window. It was not disturbed, nor was the chair he had carefully placed so that anyone coming through the door would move it slightly. There had been no prowlers while they were at breakfast.
The boys opened the case containing the earth scanner and lifted out the leather carrying cases which contained the electronic controls and amplifiers and the delicate scanning tube. They carried the cases down to the lobby and took a cab to the airport.
The ride was pleasant, since the way to the airport was along Dewey Boulevard, which edged Manila Bay. Far across the bay they could see the American Naval Station at Cavite. And to the north was Mariveles Mountain on Bataan Peninsula.
Here and there the sail of a banca dotted the brown water. In the bancas—outrigger canoes—were fishermen. A large part of the Filipino diet was fish.
The highway branched away from the bay finally, and a short time later they arrived at the modern airport, once the American Air Corps base of Nichols Field.
The Sky Wagon was as they had left it, apparently undisturbed. But they were not taking anything for granted. Rick and Scotty checked the plane over literally inch by inch, searching for signs of tampering.
As Rick examined the landing struts, a shadow fell across the doorway. He looked up to see an American watching him.
The American stepped forward. He was of medium height, with close cropped sandy hair. He wore a yellow T shirt under a white linen coat. His trousers were gray rayon, and his footgear was openwork sandals. He looked comfortable and cool, even in the broiling Philippine sun. Rick judged him to be about forty years old.
"Mind if I look?" the man asked.
"Not at all," Rick answered politely. He hesitated, then introduced himself and Scotty, who had come around from the other side of the plane.
"My name is Nast. James Nast. You must be two of the scientific party I read about in the ManilaBulletin."
"I didn't know anything about us had been in the papers," Rick replied.
"This morning," Nast said. He took a tabloid-size paper from his pocket, unfolded it to the item, and handed it to them.
The item was brief. It merely stated that a party headed by Dr. Anthony Briotti, with Mr. Richard Brant and Mr. Donald Scott, had been entertained by the Assistant Secretary of the Interior at dinner prior to their departure to Mountain Province to search for primitive artifacts. Dr. Okola, of the University of the Philippines, local adviser to the American party, also had attended the dinner.
"Lazada must have given that to the press," Rick remarked.
"Probably," Nast agreed. "Filipino politicos are like our own. They live on publicity. Please don't let me intrude. I came to the airport to meet a shipment from Hong Kong, but the plane is late, so I've been wandering around sightseeing."
"Are you in business?" Scotty asked.
"Yes. Import-export. I import Chinese silver, both alloyed and pure, and have it fabricated by Filipinos. Mostly into filigree work. Then I export it to America. I also import Siamese and Indo-Chinese silks which are made into all sorts of things and then exported to America. I was expecting a silk shipment this morning. My agent in Hong Kong gets it from Siam and Indo-China, and forwards it."
"Been out here long?" Rick inquired.
"Since the war. I first came here when I was in the Navy. Liked it so well I took my discharge here and stayed. Going to be in Manila long?"
"Just a few hours." Rick wiped sweat from his face. "We're going to Baguio."
"So am I. Perhaps I'll see you there."
"Really? What's Baguio like?"
"Plenty of local color. And the weather is great. It's high in the mountains and very cool. You'll sleep under blankets tonight, and so will I." Nast wiped his face, too. "This shipment goes by truck to Baguio, and I'm going to ride along with it." He wiped his face again.
"Why don't you take your coat off?" Scotty asked.
Nast grinned. "Because I've got a .38 automatic in a shoulder holster."
The boys stiffened. Rick and Scotty exchanged glances.
"The road to Baguio isn't the safest in the world," Nast explained. "It's fairly peaceful now, but bandits still operate up through Pampanga Province. I carry a gun to discourage interest in my shipments."
Now that he had mentioned it, Rick could see the bulge of the shoulder holster. But it was a good job of tailoring and he realized that the linen jacket had been made to conceal the shoulder gun.
"The plane from Hong Kong won't be in for at least a half hour," Nast said. "Mind if I stick around? It's a pleasure to talk to Americans. I deal mostly with Filipinos out in thebarrios, the small towns where my fabricating is done, and I don't see Americans very often."
"Glad to have you, if you don't mind our going ahead with our work," Rick told him.
"Don't let me get in the way. Go right ahead."
The boys did so, and Rick explained the fine points of the Sky Wagon to Nast while he worked to check every possible point of sabotage. He liked talking about the plane. It was something to be proud of. And Nast was an interested listener who apparently knew something about planes.
After the check up, they rolled the plane outside and Rick warmed up the engine. Then, while he was testing the radio, Angel Manotok arrived with a truck. Rick immediately shut the engine off and got out, curious to see what Angel had found. Scotty was already looking it over, with Nast an interested spectator. Rick introduced him to Angel, then asked:
"Is it in good condition?"
"Very good. The man said it had been overhauled recently, and I believe him. The tires are in good condition and there are two spares."
The truck was a typical Army vehicle with double rear wheels, both front and rear drive, and a winch on the front. The motor purred sweetly. Angel had apparently done well.
Nast asked, "Going to use both the truck and the plane? Or will you leave the plane at Baguio?"
"We're not sure," Rick said. "Depends on whether we find a landing place at Bontoc. Have you been there?"
"A few times. There are no decent fields. But you could land on the road. It's black top, and there are few power lines or phone lines. I think you can do it."
"Glad to hear that," Rick said, relieved. To Scotty and Angel he said, "We can go on back to the hotel and load the truck. We'll have to check the plane engine before take-off, anyway."
"Think the plane will be safe?" Scotty asked.
"Sure. We'll put it in the hangar and lock the door. I notice the airport guards go by pretty often, and besides, the plane has been all right so far."
"I guess you're right," Scotty agreed. "But let's put the alarm out, anyway."
The alarm was a very loud horn wired into a circuit which caused it to go off if the plane was so much as touched. Rick set it, then locked the door of the plane. Removing the key from the lock activated the circuit. Then they closed and locked the hangar door. The plane would be all right.
Nast was talking to Angel Manotok in Tagalog. Angel was replying, but not very enthusiastically.
Rick spoke up. "You speak the local language pretty well, Mr. Nast."
"Have to," Nast said cheerfully. "The Filipino families that work for me can't speak English, often as not. Well, good hunting. Perhaps we'll meet in Baguio."
The boys shook hands. "Good luck to you. Hope your shipment arrives."
"It will. The planes from Hong Kong are often late. The airport there is closed in half the time from fog. Good luck."
The boys got into the truck with Angel and he drove out to the main highway.
"What were you and Nast talking about?" Scotty asked.
Angel took his time about answering. "He just wanted to know when we were going to Baguio. I think he was making small talk. Maybe he wanted to show off his Tagalog."
"Was his Tagalog good?" Rick asked.
"Yes. Very good."
Angel said no more, and Rick wondered for a moment. What had Nast really said? He decided that it wasn't of any importance. Perhaps Nast was one of those Americans who always talk to people of other lands in a half-insulting way. Rick had met them—and mighty poor advertisements for America they were.
They parked the truck behind the hotel and took Angel to their room. "We'll get help and have the crates carried down for you." Rick said.
Angel grinned. "Why bother? You two take one and I'll take the other."
The boys looked at each other. True, the crates weren't huge, but each was a hefty load for two men.
"Stop bragging," Scotty said. The jocular tone of his voice made a playful challenge of the words.
Angel took the challenge. He went to the largest crate, swung it easily to his head, and balanced it with one hand. "Let's go," he said, grinning.
Scotty stepped forward, blood in his eye, and tackled the second crate. He got it up, but it was obvious that it was too much of a load even for his above-normal strength. Rick lent a hand and they carried the crate along behind Angel, who walked as though he had a feather pillow balanced on his head.
"Manotok the Mighty," Scotty said, and there was genuine awe in his voice.
Angel pronounced his name in the Spanish style,Ahng-hel, but now he shifted to the English pronunciation and said, "I'm an angel, and my strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure."
The boys laughed. "That was first applied to Galahad, wasn't it?" Rick asked.
"Don't know," Angel replied. "But I like it, anyway."
The crates took up little room in the truck. Angel lashed them in, then the three went to the main dining room to meet Tony. They had time for a glass of limeade before the scientist showed up. He came to the table and asked, "Do you know a man by the name of Nast?"
Rick's eyebrows went up. "Yes. Met him this morning. Why?"
"He left a phone message at the desk. Wants you to call him."
Rick rose and went to the lobby, puzzled. What could Nast want? He got the number Nast had left. It turned out to be the freight office at the airport. Then there was a wait while the man was paged. At last he came to the phone.
"Brant?... Nast here. Look, I'm terribly sorry to impose on such short acquaintance, but I want to ask a favor. My shipment came in, but now I can't get a truck. The one I usually ship on has a regular run, and the driver took off for Baguio without checking. So I'm stranded. If you haven't too much of a load, could I ride along with your Filipino driver? My shipment weighs only two hundred pounds."
Rick considered. Nothing in the truck would be in any danger. The earth scanner was safely stowed in the luggage compartment of the plane.
Nast added, "I'll be glad to pay for the trip. It will save me waiting over until tomorrow."
"No need," Rick said. "We'll be glad to accommodate you. Meet you at the hangar in an hour." He hung up, very thoughtful. Why should his instincts rebel against doing Nast such a small favor? Again he told himself that no harm could come of it. Even if Nast were finger-man for a bandit gang he would get nothing except clothes and ordinary, easily replaced tools. And it was ridiculous to imagine the American as any such thing. True, he was not an educated man, but that meant less than nothing. Education, as such, has little to do with honesty. No, Nast was just an American sailor who had decided to stay in the tropics, and apparently was making a go of it in a business way.
"Let him ride," Rick thought. "It will be okay. He can't do any damage, I guess...."
Rick had expected the flight to Baguio to be a snap, but as it turned out, he had to call for help. Angel Manotok carried the three Spindrifters to the airport in the truck, Rick and Scotty riding behind, then Angel departed for Baguio with Nast and his bundle of silks.
Rick checked in at the Philippine Aeronautics Commission, seeking information on the airport at Baguio. He took one look at the approach pattern and gulped. The approach was between high mountains, down a valley, and then up a mountainside. What made it worse was that one mountain looked much like another on the topographical map.
He exclaimed, "Boy! That's a rugged landing field to find!"
The Filipino official smiled. "You have maybe Navy flying experience?"
"No. Why?"
"Best experience for landing at Baguio is making landings on aircraft carrier."
"Thanks," Rick said. "Any advice?"
"Yes. Go to Philippine Air Lines. Talk to flight dispatcher. PAL flight leaves here maybe two hours. Just right for you. Fly to rendezvous. Pretty soon along comes PAL flight and you follow in."
The advice was good, Rick realized. He could not do better than follow a regular air-line flight into the field. He did as directed, met the pilot of the next Baguio flight, a former Filipino pilot in the United States Air Force, and was told the approximate time the PAL flight would pass the Kennon Road horseshoe curve for the Baguio approach.
"Follow the Kennon Road," the pilot advised. "Pick me up when I go over the curve. You can't mistake the place. Nothing else like it."
While Rick made arrangements, Tony and Scotty loaded their personal suitcases into the luggage compartment with the earth scanner. Scotty started the engine and checked the plane, so that it was warm when Rick arrived. They took off at once and headed north across the great central plain of Luzon.
The landscape below was flat, cut up by creeks and estuaries. It was perfect rice country. Later they passed Mount Arayat, once the hide-out of the Hukbalahap—the lawless forces that had been such a threat to Philippine stability. Ahead of them rose the mountains of northern Luzon. Within those mountains they would find Baguio and Mountain Province.
Rick picked up the Kennon Road without trouble as it wound its way through the foothills. Staying high, he followed it until he reached a great switchback curve. A car following that road would literally double back on itself, he thought. He glanced at his watch. The PAL plane would be along in about two minutes. The pilot had estimated Rick's flying time perfectly. Rick climbed, then circled until Scotty saw the twin-engine transport approaching.
The PAL pilot waggled his wings, and Rick followed as the air liner throttled down, swung between mountain peaks, and threaded its way down a wide valley. Rick gulped. A good thing he had had the experienced pilot to follow. He would never have found the way alone. The peaks were completely confusing to someone who had never seen them before.
The air liner turned suddenly and Rick's heart leaped into his throat. He thought the PAL plane was flying right into the mountainside. But such was not the case. The plane settled down on a landing strip that had been hewn from a mountaintop. It was obvious what the PAL official had meant when he joked about carrier landings.
Rick followed the PAL plane in, and had to fight down his instinctive feeling to gain altitude when he saw the mountainside rushing at him. He nearly over-shot the landing strip. But then the Sky Wagon was down, and he taxied toward the control station.
Scotty wiped his brow. "Some field!"
"Next time will be okay," Rick replied. "But this time I aged ten years."
The Filipino pilot walked to meet them, grinning. "How do you like Baguio airport?"
"I've landed on fields I liked better," Rick replied. "Thanks for leading us in."
"You're welcome. I remember my first landing. Couldn't fly again for a week. All I could think of was spreading my passengers all over the hillside. But only the first time is hard. We fly in and out of here several times a day, and we've never had a serious accident."
"Your air line doesn't go in for accidents," Tony Briotti said. "You have a remarkable safety record."
"We do our best," the pilot said. "Going into town? I am. I have a car behind the control shack. Be glad to give you a lift."
"Thanks a million," Rick answered. "First I have to make arrangements for my plane."
The pilot grinned. "None to make. No hangars, no service except gas. Just stake it down and lock the door. It will be all right."
It had to be all right. There was nothing else to do. The Spindrifters took the earth scanner and their personal luggage, then locked the plane, leaving the alarm activated. As an afterthought, Rick left a duplicate key with the Filipino field official. Someone might touch it casually and set the alarm off, and it would sound until the door was unlocked and relocked again with the key. He explained how it worked and then joined the pilot and his friends in the official air-line car.
The pilot dropped them at Muller's, a combination boardinghouse and old-fashioned inn. They checked in, then climbed a nearby hill for a view of Baguio.
As far as the eye could see, there were mountains. Steep ridges and deep clefts made a picturesque jumble of the landscape. Beyond, over the ridge, was the Trinidad Valley, a farm garden area where the American colony of the Philippines got most of its temperate zone vegetables and fruit. On the other side of town was the Golden Bowl of Benguet, where fabulous gold mines were worked by Igorot miners clad only in breechcloths and hard-rock helmets.
Baguio itself was a modern city in most respects. But the population—a strange mixture of Christian Filipinos and primitive, pagan Igorots—was unusual. The Filipinos wore typical Western dress, and actually dressed pretty warmly. The Igorot men wore the breechcloth, perhaps with a shirt or sweater, perhaps with nothing at all. Most of the men had tiny pillbox caps of woven straw on the backs of their heads. The little round boxes were decorated with such oddments as boar's tusks and coke bottle caps. The Igorot women wore a tight-fitting skirt of colorful wool, usually patterned in red or yellow. They wore blouses of embroidered white cotton, or jackets of colored wool. Their skirts had balls of yarn on the hips. The women wore no hats. Both sexes were usually barefoot.
There were contrasts. For example, next to a great Christian cathedral was the Igorot dog market. The Igorots were eaters of dog meat.
But it was not the Igorots or the mountains that had made Baguio famous and turned it into the summer capital of the Philippines—it was the climate. While Manila burned in the tropical sun, Baguio, thousands of feet higher, had cool, fall-like weather. There was hardly a night during the year when blankets were not comfortable. Even the foliage was temperate rather than tropical. Baguio had pine trees, a welcome sight to the Spindrift trio.
There was a tall, fragrant pine just outside the window of the room shared by Rick and Scotty. When the boys returned to their rooms to wash up for an early dinner, Rick leaned out and broke off a pine cone. Then, by reaching only a bit further, he grabbed a cluster of purple-red blossoms from a bougainvillea vine that had climbed the tree to their second-floor height.
In the comfortable dining room, they chose a table in front of a roaring fireplace, glad of the warmth. It was chilly in Baguio. While they waited to be served, Rick mentioned the pine tree to Tony and commented that it was odd that a tree should be left so close to a building.
"The forest practices of the Igorots and Ifugaos could well be copied by us," Tony told the boys. "Anyone who cuts down a tree for anything other than genuine use is severely punished. In the old days the punishment might have been loss of his head. That's how much respect they have for their water supply, which is dependent directly on their forests."
"You talk as though these were civilized people," Scotty commented.
Tony grinned. "Depends on what you call civilization. But they have a very highly developed and complex culture. They have a history, too, which they know better than we know ours. For instance, an Ifugao can recite his ancestry as far back as twenty-five generations. Can you?"
"Not sure I'd want to," Scotty retorted. "Might be a few horse thieves along the way. Seriously, I see what you mean."
"Their priests must know all about fifteen hundred different gods and all the legends and taboos connected with each. No written books to consult, either. All must be memorized."
"That certainly proves that they have good memories," Rick said. "I'm not sure what else it proves."
"Wait until you see the rice terraces. Now let's order dinner. This cool air has whetted my appetite like a razor's edge."
After a delicious meal of broiled steak, fresh vegetables from Trinidad Valley, and the huge strawberries for which the valley is famous, the three lingered over coffee and Tony recited more details of the Igorot and Ifugao way of life, so different from their own. In the midst of the recital Angel Manotok arrived.
"Good trip?" Rick asked.
"Yes. No trouble. The truck is a beauty. What do you want me to do now?"
Rick handed him the keys to their room. "You're pretty dusty. Wash up, eat, then go to the airport. You'll find a spare bedroll in the crate you carried by yourself back at the Manila Hotel. Keep an eye on the plane, and we'll join you at breakfast time."
Although there was no reason to suspect that anyone would harm the plane, none of them felt comfortable about leaving it unguarded. They were sure it would be safe during the daylight hours, but darkness afforded an opportunity for sabotage.
Angel took the keys and went on his way. In a short time he returned, gave the keys back to Rick, and said, "I'll get supper at a Filipino place. See you in the morning."
"Businesslike," Tony said approvingly. "No waste words or motion. I think we were lucky to get him."
The boys agreed. "Wonder how he and Nast got along?" Rick queried. "I forgot to ask him."
"He probably dropped off Nast and his silks before he came here," Scotty commented.
At Tony's suggestion they walked around town, taking in the interesting marketplace, the several cathedrals, the summer palace of the Philippines president, and the parks. Baguio was different—and very peaceful and pleasant. As they walked, they discussed their plans for the next day.
Rick and Tony were to fly to Bontoc, which was still in Igorot country, then cross the mountain to Banaue, which was the objective of the trip, land of the Ifugaos and home of the fabled rice terraces. It was to be a non-stop trip, mostly to familiarize Rick with the terrain. At the same time, Scotty and Angel were to go by truck to Bontoc, several hours' drive to the north. They would remain overnight. If Scotty could arrange a landing place for the Sky Wagon, he would phone Rick at Muller's. Then Rick and Tony would fly up the next morning. Scotty was a pilot himself, so he knew the requirements for a good landing strip.
If no suitable landing place were available, Rick and Tony would hire a jeep and drive to Bontoc. Jeeps were common in the Philippines, since they were ideal vehicles for the back country. Hiring one would present no problems.
With no landing place available, the Sky Wagon would not come into use until the expedition found artifacts of value. Then Rick would return to Baguio, get the plane, pick up the discoveries by cable, and deliver the stuff to Okola in Manila for safekeeping and preliminary examination.
The exercise and the cool freshness of the air made them sleepy, and presently, by mutual consent, they returned to Muller's.
"Might as well get to bed early," Tony said. "Then we can be up at dawn and get off to an early start. Good night, boys."
The boys bade him good night and went to their own room, a few doors down the hall. Scotty unlocked the door and swung it open, then let out a yell of joy. Chahda was sprawled on one of the beds, reading a magazine!
The Hindu boy was dressed in Western clothes, slacks and a sports jacket.
He looked up as the door opened. "Hi," he said casually. "Nice walk?"
It was as though they had left him reading while they went for a stroll. Chahda's casualness was too much for Rick and Scotty. They dove for him, hauled him out of the bed, and pummeled him with sheer delight. Finally Chahda yelled for mercy.
"I give in! Plenty okay! I glad to see you, too. Please do not break leg, may need it."
"You no-good swami," Scotty said. "What's the idea of playing Sikh?"
The boys sat down on the bed opposite Chahda.
"Talk," Rick commanded. "What kind of gag is this?"
"Best way to learn about people is to be one of them," Chahda said with dignity. "I have been Filipino and Sikh. Now I become Igorot. First I learned about this new country from Alm-in-ack. Says this largest group in Malay Archipelago. What is archipelago, please?"
Rick saw the twinkle in Chahda's eye and knew that their friend was following his usual custom of teasing them. "Archy Pelago is the black sheep of the Pelago family," he said. "Archy first fell from grace when he got into a fight with neighbors. It was a real melee. Hence his nickname. Melee Archy Pelago...."
A pillow caught him in the face, smothering his words. Scotty pushed him over on the bed and sat on him.
"Come on, Chahda. I'm so curious I could spring a seam. What's going on?"
Rick squirmed, got nowhere, and finally sank his teeth into Scotty hard enough to get results. Scotty let out a yell that could have been heard in Singapore.
Tony Briotti pounded on the door and called, "How do you expect the paying guests to sleep with that racket going on?"
The boys let him in and introduced Chahda. Tony shook hands with the Hindu boy. "I was beginning to believe you were a figment of the well-known Spindrift imagination. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise am honored to meet brilliant young scientist," Chahda said politely. "My worthless friends tell me they even call you by nickname, while other scientists are called by title. This is mark of high esteem, I think. Glad to meet you,SahibTony."
"Chahda was just going to give us the low-down," Rick said.
"That what the yelling was about?" Tony asked.
"Scotty yelled," Rick said. "Mosquito bit him."
"That mosquito is going to get swatted when he least expects it," Scotty promised. "Come on, Chahda. Spin us a yarn."
"Okay." Chahda sat cross-legged on Rick's bed. "You know I went to Manila Hotel. For three days I waited. Then one day I sit next to famous Assistant Secretary of Exterior."
"Interior," Rick corrected. "Lazada."
"Yes. Soon he is met by a friend who sits with him. This friend is not known to me then. But I listen. I hear Lazada's friend say that soon come Americans who will desec—What is ruin religious things, please?"
"Desecrate," Tony supplied.
"Yes. Do that to sacred Ifugao things. This friend begs Lazada not to give permit."
The three Spindrifters were sitting on the edges of the beds now, concentrating on every word.
"Friend says Americans will dig up rice terraces, looking for gold. Sacred objects of gold will be carried away, and earth-cokes and drafts will fall on Ifugao people."
"Earthquakes and droughts," Rick corrected.
"That is what I said," Chahda nodded. "Lazada objects that these are not real gold things, and the friend says they are. Real gold. Much gold. All very sacred. Again he begs Lazada not to allow this sacker-ledge."
"Sacrilege."
"Yes. Anyway, Lazada says Americans have much influence. He does not know if he can stop them. But he will try. I do not believe he talks truth. His looks do not make me trust him. You know?"
The boys knew.
"When friend leaves, I think I follow him. He starts out, then he meets American on steps of hotel. I get close and listen. He says to American, how you like to add gold to your smuggle into China?"
Rick whistled. He had heard that smuggling gold from the Philippines into China was big business.
"American says plenty like. Where is gold? Lazada says we not talk here, you come to my house tonight—no, tomorrow. Got big official dinner tonight, and there is plenty time. Then I decide I must know more. So I go to Number One Sikh in Manila and tell him he has new strong boy to be guard at Lazada's, after I make sure Lazada has Sikh guards. This is arranged. No trouble."
Chahda always made it sound dramatic but easy, Rick thought. He doubted that it was as simple as the Hindu boy made out.
"American comes, and I am not able to hear much of talk. But I get American's name. You know him. Since this morning."
"Nast!" Rick exclaimed.
"Yes. Also comes to Lazada's house the Filipino friend, but he is not Filipino. He is Ifugao. About him I do not know, except that he is called No Palate. Or something like that. I would like to follow him, but I think better I stay with Lazada. Good thing, too, because Nast comes again, and this time I listen. Lazada tells Nast first to meet you, so you will know and trust him. Then Nast is to get in touch with No Palate. Lazada says he has told No Palate that he cannot keep permit from you, but that American friend will help keep you from digging up Ifugao sacred things."
Chahda shrugged. "What am I to do? I stop being Sikh. My Number One Sikh buddy-chum helps me meet Igorot who used to be scout for constabulary. Name of Dog Meat. Fine name, huh? Dog Meat will help. I hire him. Need helper named Dog Meat for sure." He grinned.
The boys chuckled, and Tony explained, "That is actually a very honorable name. Dog meat is a ceremonial meat among the Igorots."
"Best reason I've heard for hiring anyone in a long time," Rick commented.
Chahda continued, "This morning I try to catch you at Manila, but reach hotel too late, then reach airport too late. But I do some watching, and I find out man with same describing as Nast has been visiting with you at airport. You already gone. Nast already gone. Dog Meat and me, we take next PAL plane to Baguio. When get here, there is your Sky Wagon. At least I think it is yours, because it is like you told me in your letter. So I come here, but not come directly to room, because I think maybe better I stay undercover. So climb tree and come in window."
The Hindu boy made a gesture of "all done." "Next time you see me, I be Ifugao. Or maybe Igorot. Maybe even Kalinga." He named another related pagan group. "Will decide when I see what is to be did. But already have name." He smiled blandly. "Name myself for Scotty."
Rick moved out of the line of fire.
Chahda bowed. "Meet Cow Brain."
Scotty reached for him. Tony and Rick ducked.
Rick and Scotty awoke the next morning with a feeling of well-being. After the heat of Manila the cool air of Baguio had caused them to sleep like logs. Also, things appeared to be going well, and Chahda finally had contacted them.
The contact had been a brief one. Chahda had gone, promising to keep in touch with them as best he could. The Hindu boy was on the trail of James Nast, hoping that by keeping close watch he could anticipate, and perhaps prevent, any action Nast might try to take against the Spindrift party.
"Dog Meat," Rick said, grinning, as the two knocked on Tony Briotti's door. "It may be a fine old ceremonial name in this part of the world, but to me it's just a meal for Dismal."
Dismal was the Brant family pup. When Rick thought of the pagans eating dog, he always thought of Dismal served up as a roast, and the thought made him ill. He had decided that he might admire the fine qualities of the Igorot and Ifugao people, but the mental image of Dismal among the poor, beaten mongrels in the dog market would always keep him from being really fond of them.
Tony failed to answer the door. "Probably gone down to breakfast already," Scotty said. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Chahda won't have much trouble finding Nast. Baguio isn't very big and there aren't very many Americans. Wonder what Nast will try to do?"
Rick shrugged. "How can we guess? There are so many things about this part of the world we don't know. He might have two dozen slick tricks up his sleeve. The best thing we can do is be on guard all the time. I'm glad we sent Angel out to guard the plane."
As they passed the hotel desk, the clerk hailed them. "Mr. Brant? A message for you."
"Probably from Chahda," Rick said. But he was wrong. The note was from Tony, and it made Rick's eyes widen. He read it aloud:
"'Dear boys. Woke up at dawn with something nagging at me. It broke through my thick skull while I was having coffee. The Ifugao No Palate must be Nangolat. It's the name Okola mentioned—his prize student. I know of no other Ifugao with even a less remote connection. Also, the shape of Angel's face bothers me. I am going to the airport on a hunch. Be back about eight, with Angel.'"
Scotty pointed to a wall clock. It was nearly nine o'clock. They had slept late.
The two boys, without a word, ran for the door. Outside the hotel a Filipino taxi waited. They jumped in and gasped in one voice: "Baguio Airport!"
"The chucklehead," Scotty groaned. "Why didn't he wake us up? Why did he have to go alone?"
"Relax," Rick said, but he didn't really mean it. "It was just an idea he had that this Ifugao might be tied up with Angel. After all, Okola recommended Angel." He recognized the fallacy in his argument as soon as the words were out, but Scotty was already pointing to it.
"Yes. Angel is Okola's boy, and so is this Nangolat. What's more likely than their being close friends? Angel could be giving Nangolat a helping hand."
The taxi climbed the winding streets of Baguio, passed the American military rest camp and the Baguio residence of the American ambassador, and finally entered the airport.
One quick look around the field showed them that the truck was missing. The Sky Wagon was waiting by itself. On Rick's quick instructions the taxi raced to the plane. They got out and took a quick look.
"No sign of damage," Scotty said. "Let's ask at the airport office."
The office was closed. It was operated by Philippine Air Lines, and was only kept open during the day, starting one hour before the day's first flight to Manila or from the big city. The first flight on this day was not until ten thirty.
A pair of workmen with shovels were scratching listlessly at the gravel on the opposite side of the field. The boys jumped into the taxi and told the driver to cross the field.
Rick leaned out. "Did you see a truck?"
The men smiled and nodded.
"How long ago?" Rick called.
The men smiled some more, then shrugged.
The Filipino cab driver spoke to them in Ilokano, the Christian dialect of the province. They answered briefly, smiled at the boys again, and went back to scratching at the gravel. Apparently they were supposed to be leveling the shoulders of the runway. If so, the shoulders would be stooped with age before they were finished.
The Filipino cab driver turned to the boys. "Sir, these men not see truck. They be here since maybe two hours. No truck."
"But they said they did!" Scotty exclaimed.
Rick interrupted, "Ask them if they saw an American, alone."
The driver exchanged quick syllables with the workmen. "They see American. He get in sedan which waiting for him, and go off."
"Who was in the sedan?"
Again the driver translated. "They not see. It on other side of field. Only know maybe three men, maybe American, maybe Filipino. They not know."
"Take us back to the hotel," Rick commanded. "And thanks for interpreting for us."
"They said they saw the truck," Scotty insisted.
Rick shook his head. "Remember what Tony once told us. Never ask a question that can be answered yes or no, or the answer will be yes whether that's the answer or not. That's as true in the Philippines as it is in China or anywhere else in the Orient. I don't think they saw the truck, but I'm sure they did see Tony go off in a sedan. I'm worried, Scotty."
"Same. Of course the men in the sedan could just have offered Tony a lift back to the hotel."
"What were they doing at the airport? The sign on the office door said the first flight from Manila was at ten thirty. No one uses the field but PAL, a few travelers like us, and maybe military planes."
"I don't believe he just got a lift. But it's a possibility."
"We'll soon know," Rick said. "Driver, please hurry."
The Filipino grinned. "Sor, would like to please customer. But hurry on these roads is break the necks, I think so."
"He's right," Scotty agreed. "We'll get there soon enough."
Within a few moments they were back at the hotel. Rick paid the driver and thanked him for the help, then they ran in and confronted the clerk. "Is Dr. Briotti back?"
"I haven't seen him, gentlemen. Just a moment please." The clerk looked in Tony's box. "His key is not here. Have you called his room?"
"Not yet. Would you have seen him if he came in?" Rick asked.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I've been doing some paper work, and unless he came to the desk, I might not notice him."
The boys nodded their thanks and hurried up the stairs to Tony's room. They tried the door, then knocked loudly. There was no answer. They knocked again, waited, then stared at each other bleakly.
"Now what?" Rick had a feeling that Tony was in danger. He didn't know why he felt that way when the only news they had was that he had gone off in a sedan with three men. The workmen hadn't said that he had fought, or that he had been pulled into the car. He voiced his thoughts as he followed Scotty to their room.
"That means nothing," Scotty pointed out. "He probably wouldn't argue with a gun pointing out the window at him. The workmen probably wouldn't have noticed a pistol barrel."
"You're right, as usual. Well, what now?"
"Call the cops?"
"What would we say? Tony hasn't been gone more than an hour or two, so far as we know. That's not reason enough to call the cops. We couldn't tell them about Chahda and what he said. They wouldn't believe any such stories about their Assistant Secretary of the Interior, and if they did, they'd probably be afraid to do much about it. If Tony doesn't show up in another hour or two, we probably ought to call the police. But not yet."
Scotty had worn a jacket because the morning was cool. But now the room was warm, and he went to the closet to hang it up.
"Hey, Tony must have taken the earth scanner with him."
Rick was in the act of sitting down on his bed. He bounced up like a rubber ball. "What? He couldn't have!"
"Well, it's gone. And who else would have taken it?"
"Tony didn't. He hasn't been in this room, except last night when Chahda was here, and he didn't take the scanner then."
Scotty snapped his fingers. "You gave Angel your key and told him to clean up!"
Rick slumped down on the bed again. That was it, of course. It had to be. No one else had had the chance to get the equipment, barring the possibility that the hotel personnel were dishonest, and there was no reason to suspect them.
"Then the equipment went with him last night. And we didn't notice until now. But we would have noticed if it had been gone, wouldn't we? I've been to the closet a dozen times and so have you."
"Means nothing. I don't know why I noticed just now that the stuff was gone. But there was nothing to call our attention to it last night or this morning. Anyway, it was behind my big suitcase—I know. I knocked the suitcase over when I closed the closet door this morning, and I didn't stop to pick it up. It's still on its side. That's why I noticed that the earth scanner wasn't there."
"If we needed any proof that Angel is a bad one, probably in cahoots with Nangolat, we have it. Scotty, what are we going to do?"
"Call the cops," Scotty said grimly. "Now we have a theft to report." He strode for the phone, but before he could pick it up there was a sharp ring. Scotty answered. "Yes?" He listened, hung up hastily, and turned to Rick.
"The clerk says there's a Filipino in the lobby who wants to see us. Says he knows us."
"Chahda! It must be. He's posing as a pagan of some kind, and we don't know any other Filipinos."
Rick's thoughts were expressed as he and Scotty ran down the hall, then took the stairs four at a time.
"That's not Chahda!" Scotty pointed to a big Filipino who was striding back and forth in front of the desk. The man was Scotty's size, and built in about the same proportions. Around his head was what at first glance appeared to be a kind of turban. At second glance the boys saw that it was a thick bandage.
The Filipino saw them and came toward them with quick strides. His face probably was pleasant most of the time, but now it was grim, his mouth creased in lines of pain.
"Mr. Brant and Mr. Scott?"
"Yes," Rick said. "And you...."
"I am Angel Manotok!" the Filipino said.
"Dr. Okola instructed me in what I was to do," the real Angel Manotok said. "Nangolat was present. He was very helpful. He even gave me the name of an Ifugao priest who would help us. A man by the name of Poison."
Angel didn't seem to think the name was odd, so Rick said nothing.
"I live alone," Angel continued. "I went home that evening to pack my stuff, so I would be ready to go to the hotel to meet you early in the morning. Nangolat was waiting, and he had a gun. He made me turn around, then he said, 'Angel, I am sorry. I only do this for the good of my people, not for myself.' There was a great blow on the back of my head and I knew nothing more. I woke up in the St. Luke Hospital. They said I had a fractured skull, at first. But they were wrong."
"Thank heavens," Rick said. "You were lucky."
"So lucky," Angel agreed. "What I can never know is why Nangolat did not take my head. Before, I thought he was very civilized and intelligent. But when I saw him in my nipa hut, he was crazy. He did not talk crazy, but he was. It was in his eyes. When I saw him and the gun in his hand, and then I saw his eyes, I knew I was dead. But I did not know why, because he was my friend."
"Do you know why now?" Scotty asked.
"No. It does not matter. It only matters that he was my friend and he gave me no chance. He did not fight me, although we are evenly matched. He struck me from behind. I will go with you now to the Ifugao country, and perhaps we will find this Nangolat. When I find him I will know what to do."
Angel's tone was not angry, nor did he sound as though he were threatening. It was as though he had said that tomorrow it would rain. But Rick and Scotty decided that they would not like to be in Nangolat's shoes.
"Did you tell Dr. Okola?" Scotty asked.
For the first time, Angel's eyes fell. "No. I was ashamed to him."
Rick recognized the odd phrase as a literal translation of a Spanish idiom. He also understood why Angel had not told Okola. The Filipino archaeologist had entrusted the Americans to Angel's care, and Nangolat had taken his place. It didn't matter that Angel couldn't help it. He had lost face. He would not return to Okola until he had made amends.
"If your head was so badly hurt that the doctors thought your skull was fractured, I'm surprised that they let you out of the hospital," Rick said.
"They did not let me. I walked out. Then I caught rides until I got into Baguio a few minutes ago. If you had not been here, then I would have followed you to Bontoc."
Scotty asked, "Angel, what do you know of Mr. Irineo Lazada?"
Angel spat. "He has power. He has many friends. All his friends are thieves. Some are mighty thieves, but he is the greatest one of all. The Secretary, who is his boss, is a fine man, and he will believe no evil of this Lazada. No one will speak against him so the Secretary and President can hear, because if such words are spoken, the body of the speaker will be found floating down the Pasig next morning. This is understood by all, and those who have proof are afraid. I have no proof, or I would speak myself. To know is one thing. But to prove is another."
"Do you know an American named Nast?"
"Yes. He is a smuggler. Again, there is no proof. Sometimes the ones who smuggle for him are caught, but he is not, because he does no smuggling himself."
"What does he smuggle?" Rick asked. He was searching for some clue that might be useful.
"Anything. Chinese who cannot get visas to enter the Philippines. He brings many of them up from Borneo. Crude rubber. Gems from Siam. He used to run guns, but the supply ran out. They were American war surplus guns, stolen by the truckload after the war and sold to smugglers like Nast. Now there are no more."
"What's Lazada's tie-up with Nast?"
Angel shrugged. "This is gossip. Lazada has a yacht. Who would search the private yacht of the great Assistant Secretary? Even though it was well known that the yacht had been to Macao or Hong Kong and was loaded with contraband?"
Rick swiftly outlined the events of the morning to Angel. "We must find Dr. Briotti," he concluded. "What do you suggest?"
Angel thought it over, now and then raising a hand gingerly to his bandaged head. "Everything Nast wants is in the Ifugao country, no? He can only want the gold, and it is there. When Dr. Okola told me of this golden skull you seek, I was afraid, for there are still many bad men in the Philippines who want gold. Now Nast is after it. Maybe others. I do not think Nangolat wants gold, but he is an Ifugao. Also, his interest is in the Ifugao country. It can be nowhere else."
Angel's English sometimes had a queer, rather formal phrasing, but it was clear. And so, apparently, were his thoughts. Rick accepted his idea about everything pointing to the Ifugao country.
"Then we should go to Ifugao."
"You have a plane. We should fly over the road to Bontoc and look for the truck and the sedan with Dr. Briotti. If we see them, we can come back to Baguio and telephone. The road to Bontoc is one way only. Only one car at a time can travel."
"One way?" Scotty inquired. "You can't mean that. How would people get back and forth?"
"I am not clear," Angel apologized. "What I mean is the road is too narrow for cars going both ways. So the road has been divided in parts by gates. Maybe a car is going to Bontoc. It arrives at Gate One. The gatekeeper lets it through, then he calls Gate Two and says he has let a car come north. Maybe another car is going from Bontoc to Baguio. He reaches Gate Two, and the gatekeeper makes him wait until the car from Gate One reaches him. Then he lets the car to Baguio go through and calls the gatekeeper at Gate One and says a car is coming. Then he lets the car going to Bontoc go through his gate and he calls Gate Three and says that a car is coming."
"I see," Scotty nodded. "One gate at a time. A car might be able to go through three or four gates, and then have to wait for a car coming the other way."
"That is it. There are many gates. I forget exactly how many. Also, to get from Bontoc to Banaue there is a road with gates."
Banaue was in the Ifugao country, in the heart of the rice terraces. It was their destination.
"Let's go," Rick said.
He had worked out a plan. The plane could scout the road quickly and easily. By air it was only a short distance to Bontoc, but by road it was several hours of driving because of the twists and turns. If they could spot the truck or a sedan with four men in it, they could return to Baguio and phone, and the vehicles could be held up at one of the many gates.
Scotty's thoughts were apparently the same, because Rick knew exactly what he meant when he said, "The sedan will give us trouble. We'll just have to hope that we can fly low when we see one, and try to catch a look at the people in it."
"That won't be very satisfactory," Rick said. "When we get to the airport, we'll have Angel pump those workmen some more. If they're still there. Like a pair of real meatheads, we forgot to ask for details, such as what color the sedan was."
They were fortunate. The workmen were still pecking away at the runway shoulders. And they did recall the color of the sedan. It was dark green. But they didn't know enough about cars to know the make, and they had noticed no special details.
"Have you flown before?" Rick asked Angel.
"Yes. But not in such a little plane. Only the big PAL planes."
The air-lines office was open now. Rick got his keys, arranged for gasoline, and they moved the Sky Wagon into position. There was plenty of gas for a short trip, but he was taking no chances. He wanted a full tank.
It took time to recheck the plane carefully, to make sure Nangolat had not sabotaged it. Then, finally, they were on their way. Scotty had a map spread across his knees and Angel had another. Scotty's map showed topographical details like the height of mountains and their contours. Angel had an excellent road map distributed by one of the American gasoline companies that maintained service stations in many parts of the islands.
Angel watched the roads and Scotty the mountains, and they got on the Bontoc Road with no trouble. Rick climbed until they could see for miles. It was the only way to follow the tortuous route of the road as it wound between mountains, hugged the side of high peaks, and dipped into forested valleys.
Now and then they could see an Igorot village far below, but this was mostly uninhabited country. On Scotty's map, not so far away, were great white patches marked with a single word: UNEXPLORED. It seemed incredible that after nearly fifty years of American Government and a few years of independence, the island of Luzon, seat of the capital, had unexplored areas. But it was true.
Rick knew that he need not watch the road carefully for a little while, except to follow it. If the truck and sedan were headed for Bontoc and Banaue they had a good start. He doubted that they were traveling together.
"You know," he said, "we're not so smart."
"I've always known it," Scotty replied. "But what have we done that's especially stupid?"
"We could have phoned the first gate and asked if the truck and sedan had passed through."
Scotty groaned. "You are so right!"
Angel spoke from the rear seat. "True, true! It is my fault. I am ashamed to you that I did not think of it."
Rick suspected that it hurt Angel to be so humble and admit that he was ashamed. He looked like a proud man, one used to holding his head high.
"We liked Nangolat," he said. "We thought he was Angel Manotok. He had all your papers. We didn't doubt him because he looked like a fine man. We were taken in, all right."
Angel seemed to cheer up a little. "Yes? Then perhaps you understand how it was easy for him to catch me and try to kill me when I also liked him and thought he was my friend."
"That's easy to understand," Scotty told the Filipino. "No one could blame you, Angel."
"You are good to say it," Angel replied. He seemed relieved.
Rick knew that they had made a friend by expressing their understanding. Before, Angel would have done his best because of Okola. Now, he thought, Angel would do his best because he knew they were friendly and understood how a man's pride can be hurt even when it is not his fault.
"We'd better start keeping an eye peeled," Scotty advised.
They flew in silence, inspecting the road below. There was almost no traffic. Since leaving Trinidad Valley they had seen only the Bontoc bus, a brilliant orange speck on the road below, and two jeeps. They had identified the gates easily. Once they passed a gate where a south-bound panel truck waited. Rick knew that the truck driver couldn't know what kind of vehicle he waited for, but from the air it could be seen that the Bontoc bus was the only moving thing between the two gates.
The Sky Wagon was just above the tops of a series of mountain peaks and steep ridges. The road clung to the sides of the peaks like a dusty brown ribbon. Rick turned up the heater a little because it was cold at eight thousand feet.
Then he lost the road. So did Angel and Scotty. Astonished, Rick circled. He picked up the road again, followed it, lost it once more.
"Where does it go?" he wondered.
"Let's go see," Scotty suggested.
Rick examined the terrain. Their quarry might be on the lost section of the road. He had the choice of going down for a look, or finding where the road emerged and circle for a while. He elected to go down.
The Sky Wagon lost altitude in a long slip toward the valley floor. Rick and the others kept an eye on the point where the road vanished, and in a few moments the mystery was solved. The road reached a cliff approximately a mile long and a half mile high. The road was about two thirds of the way up. To get past the cliff it had been necessary to cut a shelf into the cliff itself.
"Wow! Notching that cliff must have been some job!" Scotty exclaimed. "No wonder we couldn't see the road from the air."
Rick flew parallel to the cliff until he had to climb to get over a ridge. Below, the road emerged from the overhang and was clearly visible again. He gained altitude.
"Just had a happy thought," he said. "Wouldn't it be nice if the weather closed in? Here we are flying visual contact through some of the trickiest mountains I've ever seen. I'm going to keep an eye on the compass. You two concentrate on the road. If we do get weather, I want to be able to fly a reasonable course back to Baguio."