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  CHAPTER VI

  THE LAND OF HEMP

  In three months the Gulf had laid its spell upon Terry. He had come tolove the great slopes, from the sandy coastline to the last swiftgrades to Apo's distant top, the loveliness of the wind-tossed palmswhich fringed the water's edge, the sparkle of the ocean's blueexpanse and its quick response to moods of sun and wind.

  During the noontime hours the sun was blazing hot but he could orderhis work so as to avoid exposure. Out at daybreak, he usuallyaccomplished the duties of the day during the cool morning hours,reading through the siesta hours in the coolness of his great openhouse.

  Seldom did the routine of his work--the drill, the sifting of patrolreports, the minutiae of the service--overreach into the afternoonhours: then he was free to range the country, to learn its trails andtowns, its people and its spirit. His big gray pony had become afamiliar sight in every village, on nearly every plantation. Sometimeshe was gone upon two-day trips up or down the coast, or riding thenarrow trails through the deep green shade of the woods, his Stetsonseldom touched by direct sunlight.

  There was a never-ending pleasure in the hemp fields, great sweeps oftall abaca plants glinting in the sun: and in the sluggish, usefulriver which drained the levels, its turbid bosom bearing a few silentnative craft, its oily depths suggesting a basis for the legends ofhuge crocodiles which no white man had ever seen.

  He worked hard, but it was not all work. Many an early evening foundhim out on the broad Gulf in an outrigger canoe he had learned tohandle with native skill, sometimes with Matak, oftener with Mercado,the first sergeant of his Macabebe company. Sometimes, when thesurface was calm, he spent wonderful hours in studying the cool depthsof the waters, the lee-shore coral ledges which bore fairy gardens ofoceanic flora, brilliant-hued, weird-shaped, swaying gently in thetidal current: strange forms of sea-life moved among the marinegrowths,--some beautiful in form and color, others hideous. Once,while he watched a school of smaller fish playing around a hugesea-turtle, they disappeared as if by signal and the tortoise drew inhis scaled head and sank to rest on the bottom as a swordfish swammajestically over the spot, then darted into deeper waters. There wereclams as large as washtubs.

  Often, while Mercado--or Matak--paddled, he trolled a flashing bait tolure the gamefish which swarmed in the depths. Rarely did such anevening pass without a long fight with a leaping pampano or a seabass: with thirty or forty pounds of desperate muscle at the other endof a hundred-yard line, the song of reel was sweet. One night hebrought in an eighty-pound barracuda but usually the larger fish costhim line, leader or spoon.

  At times the surface of the Gulf was alive with schools of leapingfish: one evening he saw a great fish, a tanguingi, rise into the airwith nose pointed upward, till, at a height of twenty-five feet, itreversed for a downward rush to plunge in the exact center of theripples its great leap had created. Once, far out on the Gulf withMatak, he came upon a forty-foot whale asleep on the surface, rollingdreamily from side to side: the Moro, unafraid of man or devil, turnedMalay-green with terror as Terry prodded the huge black surface withhis paddle. Awakened, it upended in a sluggish dive, the heavy flirtof its great glistening tail smashing the left outrigger and drenchingthem to the skin.

  Terry had attended strictly to the affairs which properly came underhis control and in doing this and doing it well, had won the respectof natives and whites, a respect which had warmed into admirationamong those who knew him better, into affection with those who knewhim best. The loyal Macabebes would have followed him against any foe,and, better than that, they drilled hard and worked faithfully thatthey might be a credit to their leader.

  The natives knew him as "_El Solitario_," "The Solitary," partlybecause he played his game alone in a quiet competent way, to allappearances equally friendly to all, regardless of color or condition,partly because he seemed unconscious of the lures of all those brownmaidens known to be as shady of character as of color.

  He had often stopped to spend an hour or two with Ledesma on hisprospering plantation. He liked Ledesma's sincere, old-schoolcourtesy, and he liked him because Ledesma was known as anAmericanista, looked upon the Americans as God-sent to guide hispeople out of their sloth and abysmal ignorance. But he gave up thesevisits following a day when he found the dark-eyed, ripe-bosomeddaughter alone in the house and learned, in her flaming passion forhim, that she had misunderstood the reason for his calls.

  The frequency of his trips to the outlying plantations had increasedas the weeks went by, especially to the pitiful holdings of some ofthe poor natives. Malabanan's coming had been broadcasted across theland, and an uneasiness had settled over the Gulf, a vague fear Terrysought to allay. But Malabanan's record, a dark and dismal history ofhideous crime for which he had been but half punished, was knownthroughout the country, and was the nightly subject of fearfulconversation in every hut on every isolated plantation.

  Terry had ridden, alone, to the neglected settlement up the coastwhere the gang of roughs had rendezvous, but Malabanan was away. Adozen hard-looking natives had sullenly responded to his curtquestions. None were working, though he had arrived during the cool ofthe afternoon and the fields cried for attention.

  In Davao, the town, he found consuming interest. Sleepy six days inthe week it woke each Wednesday during the couple of hours the weeklysteamer anchored offshore to discharge cargo into a lighter, drop apassenger or two, and send ashore the exiles' greatest balm--homemail. He came to know everybody: first the other governmentpeople--Lieutenant-Governor; Scout officers; Dr. Merchant, thedistrict health officer; school teachers, native postmaster. Seldom aweek passed that he failed to saunter into each of the Chinesetiendas, making the purchase of matches or other small articles theexcuse for a half-hour's visit. Oftenest he went into Lan Yek's smellylittle shop, for there the Bogobos brought their mountain hemp totrade for small agongs: tired from their heavy packing, they wouldsquat down on the floor along the wall, one of them occasionallystepping to an agong to test it with deft contact of finger, alljoining him in rapt study of its tone, measuring the duration of thelingering waves of sound. Terry learned, in time, that they foundgreatest merit in those agongs which rang longest to lightest stroke.

  Even those timid Bogobos who never left the wooded foothills knew him.He went among them, studying their language, learning their customsand hopes and fears, listening to their picturesque traditions.Always, when he met a file of the beaded, braceleted folk upon thetrail, he dismounted to exchange a few words with them. Unbelievablyshy at first, in time they came to know him as word passed through thefoothills of the young white man who understood: so they brought theirproblems to him, some pathetic, some ridiculous--recently he hadridden twenty miles to settle a dispute regarding the ownership ofsome yet unborn puppies.

  As their confidence increased, they unsealed their tight lips inrelation of strange tales of the Hill People, unbelievable stories ofthe wild tribe who lived in the forbidden mountain beyond the DarkForest: stories told usually by old men and old women, who shivered asthey whispered their legends to the white man by the campfire. Theytold him the dread stories because they liked his quietness, hisslightly twisted, friendly smile, and because, as they told eachother, he listened as one who sees not with the eyes alone.

  When he saw that the fear of Malabanan had spread among these widelyscattered, defenseless wildmen, Terry grew grimmer. But as the weekspassed peacefully by, hope grew within him that Malabanan's presencein the lovely, fertile Gulf boded no ill.

  * * * * *

  Major Bronner, arriving unexpectedly, found that Terry had been awayall day on a mission among the Bogobos. Learning from Matak that hismaster would return within a few hours the Major left his bag andcrossed over to the Davao Club for dinner. Entering the club, a roomyhouse furnished by the planters to provide a comfortable place inwhich to put up when forced to town by business or the monotony oftheir isolation, he passed straight to the dining room, discoveringLindsey, Cochran and
a dozen others he knew. As he paused in thedoorway Lindsey spied him and called him to the table he shared withCochran and two others. After the Major had responded to the greetingcalled from all four tables, Lindsey took up the thread of a story theMajor's entrance had interrupted.

  "Major, I was just telling of my experiences with the hemp machine Ibrought down three months ago. As I was saying, I set the machine upin my biggest field and tried it out in private--and Man! How she didstrip hemp! Convinced that I had the world by the tail I sent word outto all the Bogobos in the neighborhood to come in next day to see themachine work, and sent a special bid to the old chief who lords itover that section.

  "Well, they came all right--ready to see the crazy Americans' newestdevilment--and all set for the feast they knew I'd give! The chiefcame, with the bunch who act as a staff for him, and I lined them upright in front of the machine in the center of a crowd of two hundredwild men--all about as scared by the machine's appearance as theycould be. I was pretty proud, and pretty happy: I gave them a goodspiel through my interpreter, telling them that from now on all whoworked for me would be free from the hard toil of stripping--nothingto do but field work--and all that. I thought that they would admirethis new evidence of the American genius, would pile over each otherin their desire to work for me.

  "I nodded to the mechanic: he cranked the engine and it got off to afine start and before throwing in the clutch that hooked it up withthe stripper I looked out over the silent, brown-faced crowd. I had togrin at their expectant, half-scared attitude: the old chief stoodright in front of the big machine--he was uncertain about it all, butgame. I threw her in and waved to the feeders, who tossed in the greatstalks as the big iron arms started to revolve in the air. It did makean infernal racket--but it did strip hemp. The fiber came out of oneend, the juice ran into a trough--oh, it worked great.

  "I spent a minute or two seeing that everything worked right, then Iturned triumphantly to the crowd. But, Lord--there wasn't any crowd--Isaw the last of their brown backs disappearing into the brush!

  "All but the old chief. He stood right there; stiff with fright, Iguess! I stopped the machine and went over to him to ask him to tellhis young men to work for me as he could see how easy it would be forthem, now that I had this machine."

  He paused, laughing ruefully. "But I didn't get a chance to say aword. He took one last look at the now quiet iron monster, cluckedthat peculiar 'Tuk!' in which they express the maximum of emotion,uttered two words--'_Americano devils!_'--then stalked away as rapidlyas his bent old legs would carry him. He disappeared into thewoods--and hasn't been seen since!

  "And worst of all, all of my Bogobos quit me, so that instead ofcornering the labor market in Davao I lost most of what I had! I'mpunching the bag every day now, getting in shape to greet the next_hombre_ that tries to sell me a machine!"

  He joined goodnaturedly in the laugh which filled the room and when itsubsided turned to the Major gratefully.

  "Major, my hemp lay rotting in my fields: it meant serious loss tome--it would have wiped me out. But Lieutenant Terry heard about itand without saying anything to me, went among the Bogobos andpersuaded sixty of them to work for me--the most I ever had wasthirty-one. He has a wonderful hold upon them--they will do anythinghe says: and I'm not the only one he has helped out; am I, boys?"

  A dozen planters supported him, enthusiastic, vehement.

  Cochran knew the Major intimately, his hobbies and aversions. Heturned to him solemnly.

  "Married yet, Major?"

  "Who--me? I guess not! No petticoats for mine!"

  In the laugh which rose over Cochran's elicitation of the bachelor'sinvariable formula, several of the planters moved their chairs nearthe Major's table. All of these quiet, efficient Constabulary werewell liked, and the Major had been known to many of these Davaopioneers since the days when they had fought together againstinsurrectos, cholera, torturing sun, treachery; the days when capturehad meant the agony of dissection piecemeal, hamstringing, the anthill.

  The Major's face had relapsed into gravity: "Lieutenant Terry is wellliked, then?" he suggested.

  Lindsey replied, earnestly: "Major, he owns this whole Gulf. He hasn'tan enemy--not counting that gang of Malabanan's up the coast."

  Burns, a gruff old planter, interposed: "He had one enemy, once."

  Cochran understood that the uncommunicative Burns would go no furtherand thought the Major should be enlightened.

  "As I was the only witness," he began, "I guess I must tell the story.One of our planters, Sears, took a dislike to Terry on the way downfrom Zamboanga: no reason for it--he was grouchy and sore, had beendrinking too hard trying to forget his troubles.

  "You know Sears, Major. His inability to get labor was ruining him andhe went too far in 'persuading' the Bogobos to work for him. Well, hewent after Terry on the boat, and it wound up with Sears threateningto do Terry up if he came near his plantation: and Terry quietlyassured him that he would go there first of all.

  "We were all worried about it for a week, as Sears is a bad man whenaroused and never goes back on his word, and we knew Terry wouldgo--he was all business, though quiet and white. Well, when Sears gotback to his place all of his Bogobos had left him, the fields weredeserted. It meant the loss of his crop, complete ruin, so he got todrinking harder and finally, desperate, brought in some Bogobos at thepoint of a pistol and put them to work.

  "It was pretty raw, of course. Everybody knew of it that night. Thenext morning I rode over to offer him some of my men and as I came insight of the house I saw Terry, riding his gray pony, enter Sears'clearing from the east trail.

  "I was pretty scared. I knew he was there on business--that he wouldbe the first one to hear of Sears' coup. I spurred up to see if Icouldn't prevent serious trouble, but when I drew near I pulled up:there was something in his face that made me keep out, made meunderstand that I was an outsider in this affair.

  "Well, Sears rushed out just as Terry dismounted, his eyes inflamedwith rage--and with a whiskey hangover, I guess, though he seemedperfectly sober. He stood at the top of the steps looking at Terry,his face purple, trembling all over: he had his 45 in his hand. Terrytied the reins to the lower railing, then stood looking up at Searswith that queer expression which I couldn't fathom. Sears spoke first,his voice husky.

  "'So you've come, Terry,' he said.

  "'Yes, I have come, Sears.' He looked sort of small and white comparedwith Sears up there, but somehow I could not worry about him. Ithought Sears would choke for a minute, then he said:

  "'If you put a foot on those steps I'll--I'll--'

  "Terry didn't give him a chance to finish the threat, but steppedforward. I noticed that his gray pony sort of nipped at him,affectionately, as he passed his head and made the first step up.Sears must have gone clean crazy. He raised the big pistol and firedpointblank!

  "They weren't fifteen feet apart, but he missed, and that shot passedover Terry's shoulder and tore a great chunk out of the cantle of hissaddle. The pony tore loose and ran away. I just sat there, scared todeath!

  "Terry never took his eyes off Sears and he still wore that sameexpression I mentioned before: he was white as a sheet but he was notscared. No, sir! Sears kept the pistol pointed at him and as Terrycame up another step I saw the hammer lift again, but it eased backand the pistol wavered as Sears fell under the spell of Terry'supturned eyes. His face changed queerly as Terry kept coming, hestepped back uncertainly, the pistol dropped to his side. Heunderstood why Terry had come, and I did also, at the same time.

  "Terry was SORRY for him!"

  Cochran paused a moment to conquer a little catch that had crept intohis voice, and then concluded his story: "Well, Major, Sears realizedsuddenly what he had tried to do and looked down at the gun in hishands as in a dream, then offered it to Terry. But Terry shook hishead, said something in a low tone I didn't hear, and they wentinside, leaving me to cool my heels in the yard like the rank outsiderI was! They came out in half an hour, arm in arm,
and Terry stepped tothe rail and sounded the Bogobo call. In about a minute a big gang ofhalf-naked Bogobos filed out of the woods into the clearing andgathered around him at the foot of the steps.

  "Terry talked to them awhile in their own lingo, then asked Sears ifhe had living accommodations for the whole bunch. Before coming toSears' place he had spent the night in the foothills and persuadedseventy Bogobos to come in and work for Sears--Bogobos, mind you, whohave always feared Sears and refused to approach his place!

  "That's the story, Major,--except that Sears harvested his full crop,is on his feet again, has cut booze and treats his men as well as anyplanter in the Gulf. And he sure does worship this young lieutenantof yours!"

  The Major studied the end of his cigar. "He never reports anythinglike that," he admitted. "I'm glad you told me."

  "You'll hear plenty more such--" Cochran began, but was interrupted bythe loud entrance of little Casey. He tore into the room, breezy,voluble, greeting every one with short, jerky sentences. He reachedthe Major last.

  "Hello, Major! How's everything? I passed Lieutenant Terry on thetrail--three miles out--he was leading his pony--said it was lamethough it hardly limped at all! Tried to get him to mount and ride inwith me--but he wouldn't--sure and he's the merciful man to beasts!"

  He rambled on till the Major interrupted him with: "How are thebreeding experiments coming on, Casey? Any foals yet--or pigs?"

  The little man disregarded the amused grin of the planters, pouringforth in long eulogy of American mares and boar. "You come down to myplace in about two weeks," he wound up at last, "and I'll show you!I'll have some cross-bred colts and pigs worth the seeing--and I'mgoing to name the first one after Terry!"

  "First pig?" Cochran seemed serious.

  "No--first colt--the first pig I'll name for you!"

  Soon the Major left Casey capably sparring with the plaguing Cochran,and seated himself on a broad window ledge above the dark plaza,smoking thoughtfully. He had made no mistake in sending Terry here.Three phonographs strove against each other from different housesalong the plaza. It is characteristic of the Americans in thePhilippines that most of them take unto their bosoms these mechanicalcomforts, instead of the animated talking machines which the Spaniardsaffected. The sky was black with the threat of rain, low thunderrumbled in the west, above Apo.

  A few minutes, and the Major distinguished two forms making their wayalong the north side of the dark plaza and as they passed under one ofthe oil park-lamps he recognized Terry, leading a weary pony whichlimped slightly. As the Major secured his cap and waved a cheerygoodnight to the gathering, Lindsey hurried to the door to intercepthim.

  "Major, Lieutenant Terry promised to come over to my place to-morrowafternoon. We were going to have a drive against the wildpigs--they've been raising the devil with my young plants. You willcome along with him, won't you?"

  "You bet! I haven't had any shooting in months. But you won't let thatbig snake get me, will you?"

  Chuckling, he left the club and crossed the plaza to Terry's quarters.Entering, he heard Terry splashing under the shower. Terry emergedsoon, kimono clad, his face lighted hospitably when he spied the Majorsitting by the lamp-lit table.

  Dressed, Terry ate and listened while the Major smoked and talked.

  "Lieutenant," he finally remarked, "there is no more trouble among theBogobos?"

  "No, sir. It has stopped--as I reported to you."

  The Major regarded him closely: "What stopped it?"

  "I just talked to some of the planters, and they understood."

  Looking up, he flushed under the Major's quizzical gaze.

  "Major, those planters at the club have been stuffing you!" hecomplained.

  The Major gravely discussed Malabanan. "Terry, you may not have tomove against him--I hope not, anyway. But I want you to be in aposition to finish anything he starts. Do you want me to send you anadditional company?"

  "No--I can handle anything in reason with the Macabebes."

  "What did you do with the secret service man I sent down?"

  "I planted him up the coast where he can watch that gang."

  Terry unfolded his plans for handling the situation should theladrones break loose upon the Gulf, and the Major was satisfied.

  "It hardly seems possible," he said, "that they will try it--but withonly one company here to cover the whole Gulf--and in so remote asettlement--it may look like easy pickings. But if Malabanandares--you smash him!"

  The threatened rainstorm had passed to the north, leaving the nightclear and cool: a strong breeze fluttered the lamp. Matak entered toclear the table and Terry, who had not eaten the fried chicken, pushedit toward the Moro with goodnatured impatience.

  "Matak, this chicken is only half cooked: I've warned the cook severaltimes--tell him to eat it."

  Matak, silent and grim as ever, bore the offending dish out, whileTerry turned to the Major to discuss the morrow's sport. In a momenttheir voices were drowned by the crash of dishes falling in thekitchen, then a fearsome shriek reached the startled pair, a moaningcry terminating abruptly in a choking gurgle. They sprang up and intothe kitchen.

  Matak was astride the prostrate Visayan in the midst of the brokencrockery and bent tinware spilled from the upset table. He had thecook's mouth pried open in determined endeavor to ram what looked likehalf a chicken down the Visayan's gullet. Half-strangled and crazedwith fear the cook rolled his eyes beseechingly.

  Bronner raised Matak bodily and Terry helped the trembling Filipino tohis feet. He turned to Matak sternly.

  "What does this mean?"

  "He would not eat it, master."

  The cook broke in, almost hysterical: "Matak say I must eat cheecken,that you say so. I say 'all right, eat to-morrow.' He say 'eat now.' Isay 'no, to-morrow.' Then he fight. I no eat to-day--notheeng--to-daychurch fast day!"

  As recollection came of his joking instructions to the ever seriousMatak, Terry turned to the Major but he had run from the kitchen,choking. Having patched up a truce between them, Terry followed theMajor into the sala.

  At sight of his rueful face the Major burst into fresh laughter. "Hisfast day!" he chuckled. "These Moros are sure literal-minded--theyfollow your words exactly. I've had some queer examples in the pastyear."

  They sat through the cool evening talking of their multi-phasedservice, Bronner earnest and unwittingly eloquent in his summing up ofits ideals, its hopes for the future, Terry silent and thoughtful asthe big man talked about plans for Mindanao, for the Gulf.

  "And some day, Terry," he concluded, after a stirring account of whattwo officers, Case and Gallman, had done among the Luzon headhunters,"some day we will get to the Hill People: the right man will comealong, and the right combination of circumstances. It is an unusualcombination--the right man plus the right place plus the right time.Carnegie would probably have been just a tight-fisted Scot had helived in Napoleon's time, and Napoleon if born in this generationmight never get a headline.

  "I would like to be the man who first wins to the Hills. Think of theglory of such a life work--opening the doors for a benighted peopleand leading them out of savagery into the decencies and comforts andsafety of civilization!"

  The steady evening breeze had stiffened, swinging the great airplantswhich hung in the big windows. The far howl of a dog sounded throughthe dark: the sleepy crowing of scores of gamecocks accurately gaugedthe passing of another hour. The Major suggested sleep.

  Terry, in pajamas and slippers, came in to see if his guest werecomfortable for the night: assured, he crossed the sala, blew out thelight and entered his own room, closing the door behind him. Shortly,while the Major lay watching, he threw open the door and the Majorheard him climb into bed and adjust his mosquito net.

  The Major mused: "That's queer--I wonder what he does behind theclosed door?"

  He fell asleep puzzling over it.