Part 8 (1/2)

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

”Papita--is she safe?”

SEVENTH ADVENTURE

THE SECRET OF THE SOURCE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ricardo questioned the chief.

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

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

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