The Spindrift campfire blazed high, and its warmth was welcome in the cold mountain night. Balaban and Dog Meat were out on patrol, although it was unlikely that any Ifugao had followed the invaders over the mountain.
Camp had been pitched in a grove of trees on the Igorot side of the divide. The boys and Tony had taken suitable clothing from their supplies and were now equipped with sturdy trail clothes and warm leather jackets. Chahda, similarly dressed in spare clothes, now resembled an Igorot only because of his haircut.
Tony sipped steaming coffee from a battered mug. He grinned at the faces around the fire: Rick, Scotty, Angel Manotok, Chahda, and Pilipil, whose wounded leg had been treated with supplies from the first-aid kit.
"Archaeologist at work," Tony commented. "Digs in musty old tombs all day, and now and then gets excited about a clay jug or something else he uncovers. The archaeologist has nothing but old jugs or beetles or stuff like that to get excited about. It's a peaceful profession, boys. That's why I like it. Calm, quiet, orderly."
Pilipil didn't get the irony in Tony's voice, but the others laughed.
Scotty nodded agreement. "That's the popular idea of an archaeologist, all right! Sounds like a recruiting ad, doesn't it? Be peaceful and quiet. Live to a ripe old age. Be an archaeologist. Reminds me of the recruiting poster that hooked me once. Join the Marines, it said. See the world. Learn a trade. I joined. Saw the world while snaking on my belly through the South Pacific. Learned a trade, too. How to fire a rifle. Very few peacetime riflemen needed, however."
"We'll combine our trades," Tony said. "You might say we did, earlier tonight."
As Rick put more wood on the fire he said, "We're together, for the first time. Before, either Tony or Chahda was missing. Now what do we do?"
Tony considered. "I must admit I was not giving much thought to the purpose of the expedition when you came after me. I spent most of my time imagining how my skull would look on the knick-knack shelf in the hut."
"What knick-knack shelf?" Chahda asked.
"You wouldn't have noticed," Tony told them. "It was high in the rear of the hut, above the opening you made. A shelf full of skulls. I kept trying to flatter myself that surely my head would be prettier than those. But I didn't really believe it."
"Do you really believe the Ifugaos would have taken your head?" Rick asked.
"You bet I do! You should have seen Nangolat. He shed civilization with his clothes. He got down to a breechcloth and he was all primitive. He's got a bad case of bats in the belfry, believe me. I'd say he was a true fanatic."
"Yes," Angel Manotok said positively. "You remember I tell you about those eyes of his? The doctor is right. Nangolat is crazy. He is a killer."
Rick remembered the crazed, distorted face of Nangolat rushing for the jeep with spear extended. "I vote Nangolat for nuts, too. Insane and dangerous."
"This being Mountain Province, Philippines, I don't think it would do much good to call the men in white coats to bring a strait jacket," Scotty observed. "So, what do we do? We can ignore him, avoid him, or shoot him. The first is hard, since he carries a sharp spear. The second may be possible. The third I reject as being un-scientific and unkind, not to mention illegal."
"One more possibility," Chahda offered. "Catch him, tie him up, have Scotty talk him into stupor."
Rick chuckled. "You may have an idea there, Chahda. Seriously, Nangolat is guilty of kidnaping. That makes him a criminal. Surely it isn't wrong to catch an escaped criminal and turn him over to justice."
"Not wrong," Tony said, "but maybe just a little bit impractical."
Rick pressed the point. "Why? If we thought faster, we could have picked him up tonight. You knocked him colder than a penguin's pocketbook. We could have tossed him into the back of the jeep like a sack of bones."
"Yes, Rick. But chances like that don't come twice. Catching him now would mean making a definite attempt. It would mean an expedition. I doubt that he'd stay around to be caught."
"Guess you're right," Rick admitted. "Then, to get back to Scotty's question, what do we do now? Apparently Nangolat has his people up in arms against us. There's no law enforcement worthy of the name up here, so we can't call for help. So what next?"
Tony poured himself another mug of coffee from the steaming pot. "We continue after the cache of artifacts."
The boys stared. Chahda shook hands with the scientist. "Now I see why Rick and Scotty call you Tony. Number One regular guy. Why let little thing like whole nation of head-hunters scare you off?"
"Archaeology is certainly a peaceful profession," Rick said admiringly. "Scotty and I don't scare easily, but it didn't occur to me that we should proceed as though nothing had happened."
"You're getting the wrong impression," Tony said mildly. "Let's consider the situation. There's Nangolat, the principal troublemaker. What is his reason for behaving as he does?"
"Well," Scotty began, "he certainly was the one who tried to kill you on the boat."
"I think he was. He would have known all about the expedition from Okola. He would have known what ship we were on, and a phone call to the agent of the line would have told him our arrival time, from which he could easily have figured what time we would enter Manila Bay. He would also have known that I was the archaeologist for the expedition. After all, I signed the correspondence we had with Okola, and he was Okola's assistant."
"But why would he want to kill you?" Rick asked.
"For religious reasons. Nangolat is a religious fanatic. I saw that quite clearly during the time I was his captive. He does not want the artifacts dug up—or he didn't. Remember the legend? If they're dug up, drought and earthquakes will follow. By killing me aboard ship, the expedition would never take place. That must have been how he reasoned."
Rick was beginning to see light. "Angel, was Nangolat supposed to be a Christian?"
Angel shook his head. "No. He was a pagan. Once he went to church with me, but that was only to see how Christians worship. He worshiped the Ifugao gods which were in the museum at the university."
Rick commented, "I imagine his studies with Okola, and especially the work he did tracking down the legends of the golden skull, made him even more religious. I won't say superstitious."
"You're right," Tony said approvingly. "This is not superstition. Nangolat is as firmly convinced of the correctness of his religious beliefs as any Christian martyr. I'm sure he considered the object of our expedition as pure sacrilege."
"I'm with you up to a point," Scotty remarked. "But why didn't he kill the lot of us as soon as we landed? He could have gotten Rick and me the night we met you for dinner. We walked in a lot of dark places, and we weren't particularly on guard."
"He tried," Tony reminded them. "We surprised him in my room at the Manila Hotel. Probably he was examining my effects to see if I had maps or charts. Then he waited in the walled city and tried to pick you two off with rifle fire."
Chahda spoke up. "Not so easy to find chances to kill, even in city like Manila. With gang, yes. Alone, no."
"He's right," Tony agreed. "Then, somewhere along the line, Nangolat had a change of heart. I don't know why. Perhaps his research told him that the drought and earthquakes would follow the digging up of the golden skull only if it should be done by unbelievers like us. Perhaps if the faithful do the uncovering, the Ifugao gods will smile. I don't know. But Nangolat decided he wanted the expedition to helphimfind the artifacts."
"The old competitive spirit got him," Scotty murmured. "Wanted his side to win."
"Maybe," Tony said with a grin. "Anyway, he got away with the earth scanner; he had it when Nast turned me over to him. Of course he couldn't use it. So he must have planned to capture one or all of us. He could have waited until the expedition got here, but things would then be complicated by our hiring diggers and camp helpers, which he knew we intended to do. Also, we intended to contact the road commissioner at Bontoc, a man who represents law and order—such as it is. So Nangolat, apparently, decided to stake everything on capturing us, forcing us to find the cache, then removing our heads. By the time the law got around to looking for us, the artifacts would be well hidden by the Ifugaos, and so would our bodies. Our skulls would be aging gracefully in some hidden place. And no Ifugao would know a single thing about it when questioned. It was a good scheme."
"Except for one thing," Rick corrected. "The terraces cover miles. We could spend weeks searching."
"There's one bit of evidence you don't have, boys. Remember that there is a major clue to the whereabouts of the cache? A dragon. Well, Nangolat knows—and has always known without knowing its significance until now—where the dragon is located."
Tony smiled at the interested faces around him. "And that's not all. I know where it is, too!"
The convoy formed at dawn. One jeep was left with Pilipil, who had learned to drive while working for the United States Air Force. The other jeep, with Tony, Chahda, and Rick, went ahead as advance guard. The truck, with Scotty, Angel, Balaban, and Dog Meat, carried the equipment.
The earth scanner had been checked. It worked fine. Picks and shovels were ready, as were Tony's cleaning brushes, knives, and other tools. When electronic science had located the treasure, old-fashioned digging methods would have to unearth it.
Rifles, carbines, and the single shotgun were loaded and ready. Hunting knives hung at belts.
Rick, driving the lead jeep, followed the twisting road up into the clouds that always seemed to hover at the top of the divide. It was bitter cold, but they were warmly dressed in clothing from their camp supplies. They kept a sharp lookout for Ifugao guards, but the road was deserted.
As the road descended into the Ifugao country, Tony kept watching for the first rice terrace. Soon he motioned to Rick. "Around this turn, I think. Slow."
Rick rounded the turn and emerged on a natural terrace overlooking Banaue Valley. The sun, just risen, was a golden ball veiled by mist. It gave the valley a warm, subdued light that reflected from the green rice, and from the sheen of water in some terraces.
It was a scene of indescribable beauty. For long moments the occupants of truck and jeep just looked and said nothing. Then Dog Meat and Balaban slipped from the truck and went down the road to take up guard positions.
Rick and Tony went to the truck and took the earth scanner from Scotty. They carried it to the edge of the natural terrace and set it up. The others joined them, weapons in hand.
Chahda watched with special interest as the covers were taken from the portable boxes. He had never seen the earth scanner in operation.
"Plenty magic, I bet. You scientists make poor native boy scared with this machine."
Rick snorted. "Come on and be useful, poor native boy. Connect these leads for me. They go into the Fahnestock clips on those A batteries."
Chahda made the connection with the ease of one who has worked with electronic apparatus before, but he kept muttering about how the poor native boy was "plenty snowed" by wonderful scientists. Rick just grinned and went ahead with connecting up the scanner. Tony didn't quite know what to make of Chahda at first, but soon the Hindu boy's dexterity convinced him that Chahda was pulling his leg.
Scotty threatened Chahda with the butt end of his rifle. "I'd offer you to the Ifugaos, if I didn't know they can't use empty heads."
"You let that poor native boy alone," Rick said with false concern. He lifted the probe from its foam rubber-lined receptacle and plugged its cord into the control panel. The earth scanner was ready to operate.
Its appearance was not unusual. There was a power pack, consisting of batteries and a dynamotor, an amplifier, and a control panel. In the control panel was an oscilloscope. The probe looked like an aluminum pipe but was really a special tube built like a segment of coaxial cable. The sensing unit was in an inner core, surrounded by an atmosphere of pressurized helium. At the tip of the probe was the sensing element which looked very much like the Geiger tube of a radiation detector surrounded by a helical coil.
"Come on, you poor native, and I'll show you how it works," Rick invited.
"You not expect to find stuff here. You just testing?" Chahda asked.
"We want to get a standard pattern," Rick said. He pointed to the valley. "The terrace soil and rocks should be no different than those right here. So we'll get the typical response of these, and when we get to our location we won't have to take time—which could be important if we have Ifugao spear throwers shooting at us."
"What's typical response?" Chahda asked.
Rick showed him the helical coil at the end of the probe. "This coil is an antenna. It's shooting out electro-magnetic waves of very high frequency. When those waves hit anything, some are reflected. The reflected waves are picked up by the tube inside the coil. You with me?"
"Way ahead of you," Chahda said. "Not all things reflect these waves the same, huh? Maybe the more dense, the better reflect. So loose earth not reflect too good, rocks little better, metal very good, and stuff like crystals best of all."
"Poor native boy," Tony said chidingly. "You knew how it worked all along."
Rick shook his head. "He's never seen it before, Tony. It's just that he's pretty quick on the uptake for a poor native boy."
Chahda grinned. "Okay, chums, I'll drop the gag. Go ahead, Rick, I not know everything yet. Why you testing here?"
"The minerals that make up the rocks and soil here will show a pattern. We'll mark the pattern on this plastic screen." Rick indicated a circle of white plastic, scaled like the face of the oscilloscope. "Then, when we go hunting, we'll be looking for deviations from the pattern. For instance, there probably is no metal in the ground here. We're looking for metal. When we find it, the blip on the scope will stand out very plainly. Got it?"
"Think so. Sounds easy. Let's see it work."
Rick held the tip of the probe at waist level. Tony adjusted the controls until the scope flickered bright green. A vertical line on the face of the scope was a much lighter green, nearly white. Then, as Tony switched the activation circuit, the vertical line formed a pattern that varied in width from top to bottom. Here and there a blip, a clear horizontal line, thrust out both ways from the center.
The present pattern was not unlike that of a stylized Christmas tree, with broad blips representing branches at the base, and increasingly narrower ones representing the branches at the top. Rick quickly sketched the pattern on the plastic circle.
"Now watch," he said, and put his rifle on the ground under the probe.
The Christmas tree pattern developed a new element that ruined the design. It was a strong blip, thrusting out from center, about halfway up the pattern.
"Steel," Rick said. "Other metals with good reflection qualities would show blips slightly higher or lower on the scale."
"Some gadget," Chahda said admiringly. "What else you need know?"
"That's all." Tony was already closing the cover to the control panel. "We're ready to move. Rick, suppose we just set this stuff in the back of the jeep instead of disconnecting it? Chahda could carry the probe."
"Good idea. Then it will be ready for use."
Scotty and Angel had been watching for signs of life in the valley below. At Rick's hail they joined the group.
"Last instructions," Tony said. "We will try to persuade Nangolat that our intentions are good, that we do not want to violate taboos, and that we will do everything in our power to persuade the authorities that the artifacts should remain in the Ifugao country."
"If Nangolat is not there," Angel added, "I will explain to the Ifugaos that we are friends, that we are helping them to find sacred things that were lost many years ago."
"And if none of this works," Scotty picked up, "we will make one sweep with the scanner, looking for the cache, while holding off the Ifugaos. If they "attack", that is. If one sweep turns up nothing, we will then beat a retreat."
"We'll have to worry about spears," Tony said, "but the Ifugao spear is primarily a stabbing weapon, and they are not the marksmen that the Zulu is with an assagai. The risk will not be very great. I need not warn you to keep under cover as much as possible. And to shoot low if we must shoot. A leg wound will put a man out of action just as effectively as a hole in the head, at least when his only weapon is a spear. We don't want bloodshed. We archaeologists are a peaceful lot."
"Let's go," Scotty said. He climbed into the truck. "Let's make peace with the Ifugaos."
"Put your truck into four-wheel drive," Rick called. He started the jeep, then shifted into his own four-wheel drive. Then, with a toot of the horn, he started off. A few yards down the road Balaban and Dog Meat were waiting. Scotty slowed to let them climb aboard. Then the two-vehicle caravan speeded up to the maximum the mountain road allowed.
Tony leaned forward, watching intently for the turn-off. Rick kept the jeep in second as he led the winding way down the mountainside toward the bottom of the valley. The road was dirt and badly rutted. If they should meet another car, one would have to back up until a turn-around was reached. But it was unlikely that another car would be out at this time of morning. Chances were that a car passed this way only once in a great while.
They were among the rice terraces now. No matter which way Rick looked, his eyes met terraces. Some were no bigger than table tops, perhaps filling a tiny space between bigger terraces. Some retaining walls were only a foot high, while the next step up or down the mountain might be a twenty-foot wall. Irregular giant steps, green with growing rice. Here and there was one with no rice, showing a film of water.
Tony called, "Easy. We turn just a short distance ahead." In another quarter mile he pointed. "Take that road."
It was little more than a path that wound a corkscrew way among the terraces, hugging the mountain wall. This was the way Nangolat had brought Tony, not even bothering to blindfold him. Rick held the wheel tightly to keep it from jerking out of his hands on impact with a rock. Then, ahead, the road suddenly leveled. Rick recognized the scene. He had been here before, last night, during the hours of darkness.
The mist had not yet cleared, and the limits on his vision made the scene seem more like it had last night. He knew that to the left, three terraces down, was the village. Now he could see that to the right of the road was a small meadow or very large terrace. He couldn't tell which. The meadow ran perhaps a hundred and fifty feet from the road to the base of a retaining wall. It was a very high wall, perhaps as much as sixty feet. Rick hadn't seen another nearly so high.
"Turn right," Tony said. "Go into the meadow."
Rick dropped the jeep back into low gear and swung the wheel. The jeep climbed over a single row of rocks and moved easily across the meadow. Rick thought the row of rocks probably constituted a retaining wall, so that made it a terrace instead of a meadow. Anyway, it was firm under the tires.
Behind the jeep, Scotty look the truck over the row of stones as easily as he would have negotiated a high curbing at home. He followed Rick across the meadow.
Rick could see now that in the base of the high retaining wall was a considerable recess. He asked, with mounting excitement, "Is the dragon there?"
Tony nodded. "Let's turn around and back into the recess as far as possible. We want to be facing out, in case we have to leave in a hurry."
Rick did so, then directed Scotty. Not until the vehicles were in place did they run into the recess and look.
There on a pedestal, a smaller edition of the one Rick had first seen at Alta Yuan, was the dragon!
The Spindrift group jumped into action. Rick, Tony, and Chahda carried the earth scanner into the recess and set it up. Scotty consulted with Angel, and at a word from the Filipino, Balaban the Igorot climbed the wall to the terrace above their heads where he sprawled among the rice with rifle ready.
Angel moved to the left about fifty feet, while Scotty moved the same distance to the right. Dog Meat ran down the meadow to the road, crossed the terrace, and took up a watch on the village.
"Work fast," Tony said. "They must know we're here. If they didn't see us, they at least heard the motors."
Rick was already at work. He plugged in the probe, checked the controls, then turned them over to Tony. The scientist set the controls and turned on the activation switch.
Rick moved the probe in a long sweep, starting in front of the dragon, while Tony and Chahda watched the scope.
"Standard pattern," Tony reported. "Keep it moving ... no change ... no change...."
Rick stepped sideways and moved the probe through a slightly different arc. "No change...."
Again Rick took a step and swung the probe. He kept moving until the probe had nearly covered the ground in front of the dragon, then he took a position next to the bronze statue and covered the ground directly under its nose.
"Wait!" There was excitement in Tony's voice. "You're on something!"
"Metal?" Rick asked quickly.
"No. It's not a metal response. Some kind of stone, but not the usual type found around here."
Tony had a pad out and was making a sketch of the recess, marking the position of the dragon. Then, while Rick moved the probe through a new arc, his pencil shaded in the area where the odd response showed on the scope.
Rick repeated the scanning process to one side of the dragon, and again the response was normal until he got close. He changed sides, and the result was the same. Then he went to the rear of the dragon, expecting a changed response there. But the results were identical. At last he gave up, feeling a bit let down, and joined Tony and Chahda. They were examining Tony's sketch.
"Plenty clear to me," Chahda said. "Right under old man dragon is round hole. See?"
Chahda was right. The changed responses, when charted on Tony's sketch, showed a circle about six feet in diameter with its center directly under the dragon.
"But no metal," Tony said. "That's odd."
Rick frowned. "It can't be an underground base for the dragon," he said. "A base would be close to the surface. This response seems to start about two feet under."
He stared out across the meadow and noted that Dog Meat was trotting toward them, but he paid no attention because his mind was working on the problem.
"It could be a crypt of some kind," he said. He went to the truck and got a shovel. "I have an idea." He went to work.
Dog Meat arrived and chattered excitedly. Angel came running, listened, and translated.
"The village is up in arms. Nangolat is making a speech and the young men are getting ready to make war."
Rick dug, working on a shaft under the dragon's pedestal. The earth was packed hard and he had to get a pick. Tony relieved him, and they took turns until the shaft slanted in to what they estimated was a point directly under the center of the pedestal.
"Now," Rick said, and took the probe. He put it into the shaft and watched expectantly while Tony adjusted the controls. Suddenly the scope flickered, breaking up the Christmas tree pattern. There were at least three different responses, two of them definitely in the metals range.
"This is it!" Tony yelled. "It has to be! Rick, that was an inspiration. The cache is right under the dragon!"
There was another yell, from outside the recess. It was Balaban, on the terrace above. "They come!"
For the moment the find was forgotten. The Spindrift party stood between the truck and jeep watching as nearly a hundred Ifugao warriors walked with menacing silence to the edge of the meadow and stopped.
Nangolat, naked except for a breechcloth, stepped from the ranks of Ifugao warriors. He held a spear a foot taller than he, a vicious weapon with a triangular point and flared base.
The Ifugao walked ceremoniously across the meadow to a point twenty yards in front of the recess. "You're trapped," he said. His voice trembled with hatred. "You can't get away from us now. Come out and throw down your weapons."
Tony stepped forward, rifle held carelessly under his arm. He stopped ten paces in front of the Ifugao.
"We and you want the same thing," he said. "The artifacts."
Nangolat thrust the metal-shod base of his spear into the earth. "We want the same thing, but for different reasons. I want to preserve the sacred objects of my people. You want to desecrate them."
"That's not true," Tony replied. "When we touch them it will be with reverence, with respect for the gods of Banaue. Then, when we have collected them all, we will buy many pigs for a great feast of thanksgiving for all the people of Ifugao. The sacred objects will be used by your priests for ceremonies. Then you, Nangolat, will go with us when we carry them to Manila. In Manila we will measure them and photograph them and make sketches. These methods are familiar to you."
Tony paused, searching Nangolat's face for some sign of a change in his attitude. "When we are done, we will ask to see the president of the Philippines. We will petition him to assist in the building of a temple-museum on this very spot. My scientific foundation will give the first donation for this purpose. Dr. Okola will help. Then, I hope, the sacred objects can come back to Ifugao to stay forever, in a place where all Ifugaos may see them."
Tony held out his hand, palm upward. "Is that desecration?"
Nangolat leaned forward, half bowing in his excitement. "The artifacts must not leave Ifugao!"
"You know Dr. Okola," Tony replied. "Would he insist that they go to Manila? I would not. I could take photographs and measurements right here. The objects need not leave here, so far as I am concerned. That would be between you and the Filipino authorities."
Nangolat was obviously impressed. "Wait," he commanded. "I must talk with the priests."
He turned on his heel and walked back to the waiting Ifugao warriors. Several men detached themselves from the group and followed as he led the way across the terrace toward the village.
Rick breathed freely for the first time. "Tony, I think he's going for it!"
"I certainly hope so," the scientist said with relief. "But regardless of how the decision goes, the artifacts must be collected. Let's get some work done."
How to get the dragon away from the underground crypt was solved with the truck winch. The cable was passed around the pedestal and the whole business hauled forward. Then Rick, Scotty, Angel, and Chahda began to dig while Tony examined each inch of progress for signs that the crypt was being reached.
A whistle came from outside. Dog Meat beckoned. The party stopped digging and hurried out in time to see a station wagon come to a halt on the road above the village. Six men got out and were met by an elderly Ifugao. But before they were ushered to the village they took time to stare at the Spindrift expedition.
The Spindrift group stared back with a combination of fear, disappointment, and disgust. Four of the men were strangers. One was an American—James Nast. The sixth was the Assistant Secretary of the Interior!
"Just like the old saying," Rick observed. "Birds of a feather flock together. A crooked Filipino, a crooked American, and a crazy Ifugao are now in conference. And what is the conference about?"
"They talk about who wins next World Series," Chahda suggested brightly.
Scotty scoffed at the idea. "They aren't sports lovers, Chahda. They are gentlemen of culture. I think the conference is about motion pictures. My idea is that Lazada and Nast are visiting Nangolat in order to get an Ifugao opinion on whether the hero should be allowed to kiss his horse in western pictures."
Tony Briotti leaned on his shovel. "I can't see how you can be so wrong when the evidence is so clear. Isn't Lazada the Assistant Secretary of the Interior? Isn't this the Interior? I think the Ifugao terraces are about to be converted to a national park, under the Department of the Interior. The Assistant Secretary is here to discuss the hot-dog concession with a local bigwig. Of course he has his American hot-dog expert with him. It's as simple as that."
Scotty checked his rifle carefully, sighting down the barrel to make sure it was mirror clean. "They could also be talking about building a new swimming pool for Ifugao boys and girls, but somehow I doubt it. What say we not worry about what they're saying to each other, and worry instead about digging?"
"Right as usual," Tony said. "Let's keep at it, and perhaps we'll come up with something worth talking about."
They had made a good start. Now, working two by two, they excavated until the shovels rang from stone. Scraping disclosed a flat stone that probably was a lid of some kind. They resumed digging until the stone was completely exposed, then tried to lift it.
"Weighs a ton," Rick grunted. "Did it move at all?"
"Not that I could see," Tony said. "Let's dig down around the edges more and see if the stone is anchored."
Further digging showed that the stone was not anchored. It probably had been set in some kind of primitive mortar which would have to be broken before the stone could be lifted. A crowbar from the truck supplied leverage and in a moment the stone was free. Willing hands found holds, lifted it free, and slid it to the back of the recess. Where the stone had been there now yawned a circular opening about the size of a manhole.
Tony Briotti was beside himself with excitement. He ran to the truck, rummaged in the supplies, and produced a flashlight. Then he ran back to the hole and directed the beam downward.
The boys crowded around to look. Rick exclaimed in disappointment. The hole was about eight feet deep and about four feet in diameter. The walls were coated with green slime and on the bottom there was a mixed coating of mud and slime and nothing else.
"False alarm," he said sadly.
Tony paid no attention. He went to the truck again, and from his own crate of supplies he produced rope and two galvanized steel buckets. He also found boots and rubber gloves, a small hand shovel, and an ordinary garden hand tool with three prongs. These tools he thrust into his belt.
"I'm going down," he announced.
Rick realized that Tony was not taking for granted the apparent emptiness of the hole. He realized, too, that Tony knew much more about such caches than he. "Okay," he said. "Angel, keep a watch. We don't want to get caught by surprise while Tony is digging."
"I've been watching," Angel said. "And we're also being watched by Ifugaos, on the terraces above the village."
Chahda looked into the hole doubtfully. "How you get in and out, Tony? No ladder."
"The rope," Tony said. "You'll have to lower me, or hold the rope so I can climb down."
"We'll lower you," Scotty said. He took the rope and made a loop for Tony's foot, then directed the archaeologist to sit on the edge of the hole. Tony did so, putting his foot through the loop. Then Rick, Scotty, and Chahda payed out rope while the scientist let himself slide from the edge into the hole. In a moment the rope went slack. He was on the bottom.
Rick watched while Tony drove his hunting knife into the wall of the hole and hung his flashlight on it, the beam shooting downward. Then Tony took his shovel from his belt and probed the soft earth carefully. It was so soft that his boots sank in up to the ankles.
Presently Tony called, "Something here. Get a bucket." He worked with the shovel and unearthed a small, mud-covered object, then another, then a whole series of them.
Scotty tied a bucket to the rope and lowered it. Tony put the muddy collection in it and Scotty drew it up.
"Send the rope back for me," Tony called.
The three boys helped to pull him up. He immediately sat down on the ground with the bucket between his legs and started to clean his findings.
"Rick," he requested, "get me the bag of cloths and brushes from my case, please?"
Rick did so. Tony removed most of the mud by wiping it off with his gloves. Then brushes and cloths completed the job. He held up a human jawbone, inlaid with gold. His eyes sparkled. "Typical, except for the gold. The human jawbone is a common Ifugao relic. In fact, they suspend their musical instruments from human jawbones." He put it down carefully and started to work on the next object. It turned out to be a pipe, again typical Ifugao work except for the fact that it was of gold.
Rick examined it. He had seen pipes something like it before, but made of clay. "I thought tobacco was an American product," he observed. "How come these primitive Asiatics had it?"
"Asia used tobacco long before the Indians introduced it to Europeans," Tony replied. "But it's curious that the pipe forms should be so similar. That pipe was made by a process we now use in America for very delicate castings. It is called the 'lost wax' process."
"Funny name," Chahda said, interested.
"Yes, until you know about the process. The Ifugao makes the pipe he wants out of wax, then coats it with clay, leaving a hole in the clay. Then he puts the clay in the fire. The clay hardens, but the wax melts and runs out. The Ifugao, then, has a mold exactly like the pipe he made of wax. He melts the metal he chooses—gold, in this case—and pours it into the clay mold. When the metal cools, he breaks off the mold, and there is his pipe."
"Lost wax," Scotty said. "You're right. It fits."
At that moment Angel Manotok came into the recess. "I've been listening. Don't think I'm presuming, please, but could we work faster? Perhaps talk about it later?"
Angel was right, of course. Tony said, "I shouldn't have taken the time to clean those things. We'll collect them mud and all." He went back into the hole and worked rapidly, filling the buckets as fast as the boys could haul them up.
Rick thought that the crypt probably was dry when the objects were first placed in it. But the water used to irrigate the rice terraces had seeped through between the carefully selected stones that lined the pit, bringing fine particles of dirt and gradually building up a reservoir of mud in the bottom. Most of the water seeped in and seeped out again, but the particles of soil remained.
Tony suddenly gave a cry. "I think I have it!" He braced an object on his knee and wiped it. "It is! And by its weight, it's thick-walled but hollow! What a find! Boys, this is wonderful! Tremendous!"
The scientist tried to place the muddy object in a bucket, but it was too large to fit. He called, "Can one of you lean away in? I'll hold it up as high as I can."
Tony's excavations had taken him down another two feet, but with Chahda and Scotty holding onto his legs, Rick was able to reach in and take the object from Tony's outstretched hands. It was bulky, slightly larger than a human head, and it was heavy—as heavy as lead, or gold!
Scotty and Chahda pulled Rick out of the pit, then they lowered the rope for Tony. In a moment he was working on the object, wiping and brushing. There was a yellow gleam to it now, and the shape was becoming more and more skull-like as the mud was removed. Tony worked rapidly, and in a few moments he held it up for them to see. It was a skull, finely executed of heavy sheet gold, and the workmanship bore the unmistakable stamp of Alta Yuan.
"We've succeeded," Tony said, his voice hushed. "Beyond my wildest expectations!"
And in that moment Dog Meat and Angel called simultaneously.
The Ifugao warriors were advancing across the field in ominous silence, spears ready. Nast and Lazada were nowhere in sight, but at the head of the warriors was Nangolat!
Hastily the golden artifacts were put out of sight in the recess and Tony walked to meet the oncoming Ifugaos.
Scotty pulled the retractor of his rifle and a cartridge rammed into the firing chamber. He held the rifle casually, but ready for instant action.
Nangolat came closer, and his face was distorted with emotion. He held the spear in his fist, ready for stabbing or throwing. When he spoke, his voice, usually moderate, was nearly a scream.
"I almost believed you," he sobbed. "But now I know the truth! You are here to desecrate our temples and to rob us of the precious relics of my people."
Then the Ifugao saw that the dragon had been moved. He bared his teeth with fury and his eyes were glazed, black with emotion. He was beyond reason.
"Die!" he screamed. "Die!"
His hand flashed back for the throw. Scotty's rifle spoke sharply and the heavy slug caught the blade of Nangolat's spear. The Ifugao was whirled around bodily. He fell as the spear was wrenched from him and hurled a dozen yards away.
It was the signal. The Ifugao warriors rushed, launching spears as they came. Rick pulled Tony back to the shelter of the truck. Angel, Scotty, and Chahda were calmly firing at the oncoming wave, shooting low with deadly accuracy. From the terrace above, Balaban was firing down with good effect, while Dog Meat whammed away with the shotgun.
Spears bounced off the truck, the jeep, and the dragon. Now and then one hung quivering in the wall of the recess, but the Spindrift group had good shielding and there were no casualties.
The attackers were wavering now. A priest with a knot of chicken feathers in his hair leaped forward, holding a skull high. Rick guessed it was an important symbol of some kind, because he saw the warriors rally. He sighted in and his shot blasted the skull into fragments. The wave broke and retreated.
Tony made a quick examination to be sure there were no casualties. Out on the meadow several wounded Ifugaos, all of them with leg wounds, were being helped to safety.
"We can thank Nast and Lazada for this," Tony said bitterly. "Do you realize that we are in a very bad position?"
The Ifugao warriors were reforming. Nangolat, recovered from the numbing shock of Scotty's shot, stormed among them, getting them ready for another assault. But Nangolat was no longer waving a spear. He was now armed with a rifle.
"We can stand off their assaults," Tony said. "We can't stand sniping. Not for long, at any rate."
Scotty grinned. "Neither can Nangolat. Let's see if I can fix his wagon."
They watched as Scotty wet his finger, tested for wind direction, then set the sights on his rifle. On the other side of the road Nangolat was exhorting his troops like a good general, waving his rifle to emphasize his words.
Scotty took a classic sharpshooter's position, relaxed but braced. Rick saw him inhale and hold it. The rifle muzzle moved slowly, following Nangolat's movements. Then, suddenly, the rifle spoke.
Nangolat was thrown into the midst of his warriors, while his rifle, its stock shattered, flailed into the ranks and knocked two warriors down. And then Nangolat went berserk. He snatched a spear from one of his men, turned, and ran toward the defenders, screaming. A priest barked an order and two warriors dashed forward, caught Nangolat, and hauled him back by force.
"The old priest had sense enough to know Nangolat wouldn't make it," Angel said.
"All right," Tony said crisply. "We're trapped in here. It's not a bad place to be trapped for a while. They can't get at us without crossing open spaces, and there is enough overhang to the wall to prevent them from dropping rocks on our heads. Also, Balaban is up there to warn us if they try anything from that direction. But we can't stay here forever. We need help. How do we get it?"
"It has to be the constabulary at Baguio," Rick said. "There isn't any other help nearby. If worst comes to worst, I suppose we could call the American ambassador and try to get him to send Air Force troops from Clark Field."
"By the time diplomatic protocol and military red tape got untangled we'd be old men," Scotty objected. "If we lived to be old men. Also, you overlooked one little thing. How do we get a message to them?"
"Wait until night and one of us sneak out."
Tony looked at his watch. "We won't last until night," he said succinctly. "It's still early morning."
Rick examined the terrain between the cave and the road, noting where the station wagon Lazada had brought was parked.
"I'm going," he said. "Let history record that Rick Brant carried a message to...."
"Not Garcia," Chahda said. "That was in Cuba, says my Worrold Alminack. Carry message to cops."
"How?" Scotty demanded.
"You create a diversion. I'll get in the jeep and make a run for it."
Scotty considered. "It could work. But I'll do it."
"My idea," Rick said firmly. "I'll do it."
Tony was deep in thought. After all, the safety of the expedition was his responsibility. "I got us into this," he said. "Bad judgment is no excuse. I was certain it would work out."
"Would have, if Lazada had stayed home," Chahda said. "I go with Rick. He drive, I shoot. Okay?"
"There doesn't seem to be any alternative," Tony agreed. "Staying or going makes little difference, so far as danger is concerned. All right, Rick. We can create a diversion when they start to charge next time. If we start the truck and roll it toward the village, I'm sure we can create a little excitement."
"That's smart," Scotty approved. "The truck would go right on across the road, across the terrace, and tumble down. It wouldn't hit the village, though. It would land on the next terrace."
"I doubt that they'd think of that in the excitement," Tony commented. "But take away the jeep and truck and you take away our good cover from spears. We need an earthwork fort, quickly. All hands turn to."
There were tools enough. While the Ifugao warriors argued among themselves, and Nangolat, somewhat calmed down, tried to work them up to a new pitch of excitement, the Spindrift group dug. Within a few minutes there was a very respectable earthen berm across the front of the recess. The riflemen could lie behind it and be reasonably protected from spears.
They were just in time, too. The Ifugaos were steadying down and Nangolat had a spear in his hand once more.
"I'll start the truck," Scotty said quickly. "Head for them, then jump out, leaving it in first. Don't start the jeep until I'm moving. We should be able to hold them off until you return in the Sky Wagon."
Rick suddenly realized that the steel poles for the pickup cable were with the gear on the truck. He reminded Scotty of the fact. "I'll snatch Tony's loot right out of your hands," he said. "That will take some of the heart out of them."
"Or make them madder," Scotty added. They hurried to unload the truck. Chahda checked his rifle.
"Make or break," Rick said. "If I make it, fine. If not, that breaks our chances down to zero. But I'll make it."
Scotty ran for the truck cab, climbed in, and started the engine. The Ifugaos stopped their yelling to look. For a moment they milled around, uncertain, then Scotty threw the truck into gear and started directly for them.
Rick and Chahda jumped into the jeep. Rick started the engine and pulled out the choke slightly to avoid a possible stall. Scotty leaped from the truck, leaving the unmanned vehicle to bounce across the meadow directly toward the ranks of the Ifugaos! They hesitated, then scattered—and Rick stepped on the gas.
He angled the jeep across the meadow, coaxing maximum speed out of it, paying no attention to ruts or bumps. From beside him came the sharp crack of Chahda's rifle. Once a spear passed overhead and dug into the rice beyond.
Then Rick slowed for the stone blocks at the edge of the meadow and let the jeep climb over them to the road. A spear clanged off the rear and another ripped the rear-seat cushion. Chahda fired one shot after another, muttering to himself in Hindi.
They were on the road! Rick gave the jeep all it would take. In his rear-view mirror he caught a glimpse of Ifugaos pursuing him, of the truck stopped at the edge of the meadow, then they were around the curve of a terrace wall, free.
Rick kept the accelerator to the floor except on the worst curves. They climbed out of the valley, crossed the ridge, and emerged at their camp. Pilipil was waiting. They slowed long enough to yell instructions to strike the tents and cooking gear, and load them in the jeep and be ready to leave on a moment's notice, then they drove down the mountain at breakneck speed, with Chahda holding on for dear life. Fortunately, they had to pass through only one gate, and the gatekeeper waved them right through. They passed Igorot villages, narrowly missing chickens and pigs, then bounced across a river bed and into Bontoc.
The trip had taken one hour. The boys pulled up in front of the road commissioner's office and ran in. De los Santos met them. "You are excited!" he exclaimed. "Is something wrong?"
"Very wrong," Rick replied. "We must use your phone. How do I get Baguio?"
"I will get it for you. Who do you want?"
"The constabulary!"
Santos looked startled, but he cranked the phone several times, talked in Ilokano, and finally handed the phone to Rick.
A voice at the other end said, "Constabulary detachment. Corporal Alvarez."
Rick said quickly, "We need help at Banaue. A party of Americans are trapped by Ifugaos. Unless they get help quickly, they'll all be killed!"
Corporal Alvarez replied, "There must be a mistake. The Ifugaos are peaceful."
"Not any more," Rick yelled. "I just came from there. They're throwing spears. They mean business!"
Suddenly the corporal was unable to understand. Rick yelled, begged, and threatened, to no avail. At last he hung up, defeated. "Something's fishy," he said. "Very fishy. The corporal knew what I meant, I'm sure. He treated it as a joke. Chahda, Lazada is behind this!"
Santos coughed. Rick whirled on him. "What do you know about it?"
"Nothing, I assure you."
The man was lying. Rick was sure of it. He grabbed him by the lapels and said, "Talk. Talk! My friends may lose their lives unless we can do something."
Chahda took a hunting knife from his belt and put the point against Santos' throat. "Talk," he said gently. "You have two seconds." He pushed a little.
Santos' light-brown complexion turned dirty gray. "All right," he gasped. "I am a good man, but Lazada is my boss. I do not like what he has done. Last night he stayed here, and I heard him talk to the American, Nast. They laughed about how they had told the constabulary that a group of crazy Americans were up here and would be calling them with a practical joke, to which they should not pay attention. They told the constabulary this both in Baguio and Manila."
"And they believed him, because he is Assistant Secretary of the Interior," Rick said bitterly. "Now what? We'll never convince them. He couldn't order them not to help, so he planted a story that would do the same thing. The only thing I can do now is call the American ambassador and see if he can go through diplomatic channels to get help."
"Take too much time," Chahda said. "It will be too late."
Santos muttered in the native dialect.
"What was that?" Rick asked sharply.
"Filipino saying. 'What good is hay to a dead horse.'"
"Wait!" Rick had a quick mental image of the Filipino officer who had first spoken the phrase. Colonel Felix Rojas. He would believe the story. Hadn't he warned them?
"Get me Manila," Rick said. "Quickly. Constabulary Headquarters!"
It took time. It seemed like an hour, but was only fifteen minutes. And Colonel Felix Rojas was on the wire.
Rick talked fast, telling the colonel the whole story, including Chahda's espionage activities. When he had finished, Rojas said crisply, "No time to get troops there. It will take planes. I will send a fighter plane first. Then will come a platoon of paratroopers, if I can get the Army to move fast enough. But it will be two hours before the troopers can get there, even with the best speed possible. The fighter will be there in an hour. Tell your friends to hold out. Return to Manila as soon as your party is safe. See no one, talk to no one until you see me."
The colonel rang off.
"An hour," Rick said. "And an hour after that before the paratroopers arrive. Can they hold out?"
"They must," Chahda said flatly.
The Sky Wagon climbed out of the valley at Bontoc and Rick set a course for Banaue. He took his pad and wrote a note to his friends, telling them of his conversation with Colonel Rojas and of the trick Lazada had pulled. He wrapped the note around a wrench and tied it with a piece of string.
Behind him, Chahda was busy with the bags for the cable pickup. He had already removed the hatch. He tied the bags in two bundles and put them in a handy place, to be tossed to the Spindrift group, then he got into the seat next to Rick.
"We pick up stuff, even though constabulary coming to rescue?"
Rick nodded. "The plane can do nothing but scare the Ifugaos off. That wouldn't prevent them from trying to capture the golden skull, anyway. And even after troops land, that stuff is too valuable and too tempting. Don't forget Lazada is on the scene. He could take over from the troopers and they wouldn't dare say no."
"True," Chahda agreed. "Better we get it. What you thinking about this deal with Lazada? Why does Nangolat trust him? And what does he want?"
"You told us the answers in Baguio," Rick reminded him. "Lazada told Nangolat he couldn't refuse a permit—which we never got, by the way—but that he would hinder us in other ways. Nangolat thinks Lazada is his friend, all right. Lazada must have told him that our real plans were to carry off the golden skull, probably to America. And why?"
"Because Lazada wants Ifugaos to massacre us after we have located skull," Chahda said. "That way, no witness. Dead men not telling stories on witness stand. Then Lazada and Nast shoot poor Nangolat and take stuff. Or something like that."
"Nice people," Rick commented.
The Sky Wagon was crossing the ridge. Soon they would be back on the scene. Chahda got into the rear seat, ready to throw the message and bags out through the access hatch.
"Wait until I signal," Rick reminded him, and put the Sky Wagon into a dive. He followed the road for a distance, then saw the truck and used that for a landmark. As he flashed past the Spindrift refuge he saw that the Ifugao warriors were in a semicircle around the edge of the meadow. Apparently the siege was still on. Now to drop the message. He gauged his distance and altitude. He wanted to be sure the message landed within reach.
"Get ready," he called, and circled until he was headed directly at the recess. When a crash into the terrace wall seemed imminent he yelled, "Now," and zoomed up into a screaming wing over. When he circled again, Tony and Scotty were reading the message.
The second time around, Chahda dropped the bags. Then there was a wait while Scotty and Angel set up the pickup poles.
The Ifugaos were obviously curious, nor were they the only ones. Rick saw Lazada, Nast, and the rest of their party emerge from the village and walk to a place on the terrace just beyond the meadow. They could not be seen by anyone within the recess, but they could watch what was going on in the meadow.
Scotty knew that Rick could not make pickups while flying toward the recess, so he was setting up the poles in such a way that Rick could fly parallel to the terrace wall in which the recess was located.
The pickup was very simple. Each bag was attached to a circle of cable about eight feet in diameter. When ready for pickup, the bag was put on the ground between the two poles and its cable was placed on angle irons at the tops of the poles. The cable was not anchored. The only purpose of the poles was to lift the cable far enough off the ground for convenient pickup.
Soon the first bag was in place and Scotty and Tony retired to the recess to watch. Rick pushed a button on his control board and the cable in the rear of the plane unwound. It was heavy, woven steel, terminating in a weighted six-inch hook.
Rick knew from many previous pickups the altitude at which to fly. He circled for the run, dropped to the correct altitude, and glued the plane's nose on the poles. The Sky Wagon passed over the poles, and the hook on its cable caught the cable stretched between the poles. That cable slid off the supports. The fast-moving plane took up the slack and the bag of artifacts was jerked from the ground. A touch of the button and the electric motor reeled it in. Chahda pulled the bag through the hatch, unhooked it, and put it in the luggage compartment. They were ready for another run.
Tony had dug up enough stuff for seven bags. That was a lot of artifacts. Each time Rick asked, "Was that one the skull?" And Chahda would shake his head.
The seventh bag was the skull. Rick was sure because of the clasped-hands wave Scotty gave him, and because Tony did not retreat into the recess. As Rick turned for his run he saw the sleek form of a military plane slip past. Help had arrived. He sighed his relief and held up his run to watch. The plane buzzed the Ifugaos and dropped a container with streamers attached. An Ifugao—Rick thought it was Nangolat—ran to get it.
Rick could imagine what the note said. "Do not attempt further harm to the Americans or your village will be bombed." Or some similar threat. Nangolat might not like it, but he would obey.
"Here we go," Rick said. He put the Sky Wagon on course and held it steady. The poles passed from sight and there was a strong jerk on the plane. That skull was heavy.
"Bag tearing! Reel in!" Chahda yelled.
Rick pushed the button and the winch whined, then suddenly screamed as the load was released. Gone! The skull was gone! He swung in a vertical bank just in time to see Nast lift the bag to his shoulder. Rick pounded the seat beside him with helpless rage!
The golden skull had fallen within reach of Nast and Lazada; it was in the hands of the enemy. Rick swung in a tight circle and saw them run to the station wagon and climb in.
"They waste no time," Chahda said bitterly. "That Lazada, he move fast."
"We'll never see that skull again," Rick muttered. "What rotten luck!"
The Hindu boy's face tightened with determination. "We get that skull back. Rick, fly to Bontoc. Open throttle wide and let us go!"
"There's nothing we can do at Bontoc," Rick objected. "No one there, or in Baguio either, would dare question Lazada."
"Go to Bontoc," Chahda urged. "Leave this to me, Rick. Chahda will take over."
"But what can you do?"
"I will know when the chance comes. You and Scotty will be ready. Somehow, some place, we will get our chance—and the golden skull will be ours again!"
Colonel Felix Rojas paced the floor of Tony Briotti's room in the Manila Hotel. He was in uniform now, but his visit, as he made quite clear, was not official. At least not yet.
Rick had just finished relating the story of how the golden skull had fallen into the hands of Lazada. "Can't you just go to him and demand the skull?" he asked.
Rojas smiled sadly. "If only it were that simple. Suppose two Malays arrived at your Department of Defense and claimed that your Assistant Secretary of the Interior had stolen a valuable Indian necklace from an archaeological expedition. What would happen?"
Rick knew perfectly well what would happen. "They would get thrown out—if they could get anyone to listen to them in the first place."
"Exactly. The situation is not particularly different, except that I'm sure we pay more attention to Americans here than you would to Malays in your country. After all, you owned us for nearly half a century."
"You warned us," Scotty said. "Why?"
Rojas shrugged. "I may as well be frank. I knew of Nangolat's visits to Lazada. In fact, I was present at one meeting. And I knew that our esteemed Assistant Secretary was hungry for that buried gold. If I could prove some of the things I know about that man, he would no longer hold public office. He would be in jail. My hands were tied, officially, but unofficially I tried to warn you. I couldn't come right out and denounce Lazada."
"Of course not," Tony agreed. "We're grateful that you were able to say as much as you did."
Rojas nodded. "Let us continue. After you flew back to Bontoc, what happened?"
Rick picked up his tale. "Pilipil was on the mountain, waiting. We dropped down and signaled for him to go to Banaue in the jeep, then we landed at Bontoc and picked up the other jeep. Chahda became an Igorot again. He took the jeep and started for Baguio right away, while I stayed behind in Bontoc."
"I don't get the point of that," Rojas interrupted.
"Chahda intended to follow Lazada or Nast, whoever had the skull. They were coming over the mountain in a fast station wagon, and there were only two routes they could take—north to the Kalinga country, or south to Baguio. We didn't think they would go north. So Chahda started for Baguio, knowing that they would probably catch up to him before the jeep reached the Baguio gate. They were in so much of a hurry that they would not suspect an Igorot who pulled to the side of the one-lane road to let them pass him, which would make trailing them easier."
"Smart," Rojas said. "Then your friends arrived at Bontoc late that afternoon, and you flew them back to Baguio, leaving Angel Manotok to bring the truck."
"Yes. Of course we paid off Pilipil, Balaban, and the Igorots who had guarded the plane. Dog Meat rode back with Angel."
"And you haven't heard from your Hindu friend since?"
"No."
Rojas picked up his cap. "I would like very much to find Lazada with that golden skull in his possession. It would be a major service to the Philippines, because it would give the Secretary and the President positive grounds for his dismissal. I ask a favor. If you hear from your friend, will you let me know?"
"First thing," Tony Briotti promised.
When the constabulary colonel had gone, the three washed up and went downstairs. Tony was restless and Rick knew that he wanted to get to work on the artifacts they had flown down to Manila. The Ifugao treasure, minus the skull, was under guard at the university museum.
"Go on out to the museum," Rick said. "You're so restless I'm beginning to itch just watching you."
"Same here," Scotty agreed. "Go on, Tony. We'll wait here for word from Chahda."
"I really would like to," Tony said. "Perhaps I will, if you'll let me know the moment Chahda comes."
The boys promised to do so and Tony departed. They found comfortable chairs in the lounge and ordered fresh limeades.
"Angel should be arriving with the truck tomorrow," Scotty observed.
"Yes, with Dog Meat. Wonder if Chahda will be back by then?"
"I wish he'd let us know where he is," Scotty grumbled. "For all we know, Lazada may have captured him and tossed him into Manila Bay."
A waiter approached. "Ask him where our limeades are," Scotty said. "I'm thirsty. And I'm getting hungry."
"Again? We finished dinner less than an hour ago."
"It didn't seem like dinner," Scotty explained. "I can't get used to eating when the sun is high in the sky. I don't care what time it is, it should be dark when we eat. Now it's dusk and I'm hungry."
The waiter bowed. "Phone call for you, Mr. Brant—or Mr. Scott."
"Thank you. Wonder who this can be?"
"Chahda?" Scotty asked.
"That would be too much to hope for. Besides, he sends notes whenever he can. Doesn't like to phone."
But it was Chahda. He gave them rapid instructions. Dress in dark clothing. Meet him at Parañaque, a town to the south, just below the airport. Hurry. Chahda hung up. He had obviously been excited.
Rick and Scotty ran for their room. They changed clothes, then Rick tried to phone Tony at the museum. There was no answer. Constabulary Headquarters regretted that Colonel Rojas did not answer the phone in his quarters. They would send a messenger to find him. Rick left the message that he and Scotty were meeting Chahda, then the boys hurried to the desk and left a similar message for Tony.
A taxi took them to Parañaque. Like most small towns in the Philippines it consisted of a cathedral, a market, aboticaor drugstore, and a few houses.
They found Chahda in front of the cathedral. He was dressed Filipino style in slacks and sport shirt, and his hair had been recut to a modified crew cut-the only cut possible after the Igorot one.
They dismissed the taxi. Chahda had the jeep. While he drove them through a backwoods road, he told them his story. He had pulled off the one-lane road to let Lazada and Nast pass just before he reached Baguio. Following them had been no problem from then on. They went to a house on the outskirts of Baguio, and by asking a few questions of the house servants—after first loosening their tongues with a few pesos—he had found that Lazada was proceeding on to Manila by car the following morning.
"There was a chance he might give Nast the skull to take care of," Chahda admitted, "but I not think so. Lazada not the kind of man with liking for letting gold out of his hands. So I go to barbershop, get haircut, pick up clothes where I left them with a friend of Dog Meat. Then I drive to Manila and stop at Malolos."
That was a town to the north of Manila on the road to Baguio. Chahda had pulled the same trick of letting Lazada overtake him.
"He comes by, and Nast is with him," Chahda continued. "I am surprised, because Lazada goes right to his house. I wait around nearly all day. Cannot call, because no phone handy. Well, tonight he took black limousine, and he and Nast come to Parañaque. He has skull. They go to this little barrio where we going, and go into nipa shack. Lazada stays there with the skull. Nast goes off in the limousine. So what I think?"
"What do you think?" Rick asked.
"I think Nast goes to get somebody, to bring them to Lazada. So I rush off and call you. Before you came, I saw Nast go by. So now the meeting is being held, and we must figure how to get the skull."
Chahda reached forward and switched off the jeep's headlights. For an instant it was very dark, then as Rick's eyes became adjusted to the darkness he saw that the road was visible as a white pathway between the rice paddies. Ahead were the lights of houses. They had reached the barrio where the meeting was to be held.
Rick looked around and saw that the sky to the north was aglow with the lights of Manila. Then he saw a plane take off and realized that they were only a short distance from the airport.
Chahda pulled off the road into a patch of nipa palms, went through the palms, and parked behind a feathery thicket of bamboo. "We walk to shack," he said. He took a bolo from under the rear seat of the jeep and tucked it into his belt.
The Hindu boy led them a hundred yards down the road, then turned off onto a path. In a moment he pointed.
Ahead, alone in a clearing, was a typical nipa hut. It was built on stilts in the traditional Filipino way, and there was room underneath the supporting posts for a tall man to stand upright. The house itself was square, with walls of woven thatch made from the nipa palm. The roof was pyramidal, heavily thatched with layer after layer of straw. The floor was of split bamboo, a single layer of springy bamboo strips as wide as a man's thumb laid across a framing of whole bamboo supports.
Except that it allowed mosquitoes to roam in and out and gave no bar to lizards or snakes, it was ideal for the climate. The openwork floor allowed the breezes to circulate through the whole house. Also, housekeeping was simple. Dust couldn't gather. It just fell through the floor.
Filipinos had lived in houses like this for centuries, but the influence of Western civilization was visible in the form of electric lights. It was visible in another way at this particular nipa hut, too. Next to it was a shiny limousine, the property of Irineo Lazada.
Chahda whispered, "We get close. Be very quiet and follow me."
It was dark enough. Chahda led the way, and Rick and Scotty followed. There was little cover, but there was no guard outside the house. Apparently Lazada and Nast felt quite safe. They did not know how effectively Chahda had shadowed them.
Chahda made his way slowly until they were beside the big limousine. There was a murmur of voices from above, Lazada's predominating.
Rick swallowed hard as Chahda left the limousine and and walked right under the hut, but he and Scotty followed, scarcely daring to breathe. It was dark and he almost knocked over a stack of wooden boxes. Then, under the hut, there was light.
Rick had not realized that the bamboo floor was nothing more than a latticework of bamboo strips. He could look right up between them and see the occupants of the room!
There was Lazada, of course, and Nast. And with them were two Chinese.
Nast was talking, "Don't you worry about delivery. If I say I'll get the skull into Macao, I'll do it. You just worry about the price."
Rick recognized the name of Macao. It was the Portuguese colony on the Chinese coast just below Hong Kong. It had the reputation of being the gathering place for smugglers, gun-runners, Chinese river pirates, and equally unsavory folk.