The Governor had been trying all evening to solve the strange appeal of Terry's countenance: the primitive Moro had understood. Gazing at the white youth, the Governor saw that Matak was right. The tone in which he addressed Terry was gentle, fatherly.

"Lieutenant, do you need a boy?"

The Major's quick sympathy had been enlisted: "Lieutenant, you will run your own mess down there," he interposed.

Meeting the black eyes turned upon him in confident expectation, Terry found their dull appeal irresistible.

"He may come with me," he said. "I will look after him."

Matak stood motionless a moment, then stepped to Wade and slipping to one knee pressed Wade's hand against his lips in token of grat.i.tude and farewell. Then he rose and went silently into the house.

The Governor, the Major and Wade were busy men with large responsibilities: Terry found ample material for reverie in contemplation of what was opening up before him. The incident served to stifle further conversation. The four settled comfortably into the long rattan chairs drawn up near the railing, each content in the mere a.s.sociation with friends and occupied with his own problems.

The quiet intimacy of the group was jarred by the sudden jangle of a telephone. Wade jumped up with a muttered excuse but before he had crossed to the open door it rang again, insistent. They heard his murmured "h.e.l.lo," then an incredulous "What!" in higher pitch. He appeared at the door, pale, excited.

"Governor Mason," he exclaimed, "Captain Hornbecker reports that there is a _juramentado_ loose between here and Zamboanga!"

At the startling intelligence the Governor's feet rapped to the floor: the Major jumped to his feet, astounded.

"Why," he protested, "who ever heard of a Moro running amuck at this time of night!"

"Hornbecker insists that it is true, nevertheless. He has sent a detachment out after him but was worried because the Governor and you might have started before he got word for you to wait."

The Governor shook his head decidedly: "We will not wait. Please call my car."

The Major's protest against the Executive's endangering himself died in his throat at a quiet look from the Governor. They hurried to the car, Wade delaying them a few seconds while he secured three heavy pistols, handing one to each of the two officers. They found Matak waiting in the seat beside the driver.

A sharp order from the Governor and the chauffeur shot them out of the reservation and into the provincial road. The big Renault roared through the night, the kilometer posts flitting by like specters, the headlights tunneling the cocoanut groves through which the white highway spun.

The four Americans crouched low in the tonneau to escape the blinding rush of air that eddied over the windshield. They shot over a bridge, tore through a dark village, rounded a corner at top speed and took the gra.s.sed shoulder of the road as the little chauffeur twisted the wheel to avoid a bewildered carabao which blocked the middle of the highway. A sickening skid, and they were back in the road. At the end of a roaring flight down a long straightaway they rounded a sharp curve into a short stretch terminating in a nipa village which seemed to leap toward the rushing car. As the powerful lights swung upon the widened road which formed the village street the alert driver saw that which brought foot and hand to the brakes in a frantic effort that brought the car to a grinding, sliding stop and tumbled the Americans to the floor of the tonneau.

Crouched in the middle of the road a Moro, gone amuck, darted fanatic glances in search of the Christians he had vowed to die killing, his eyes bloodshot with the self-inflicted torture of the juramentado rite. He balanced a great two-handed kris that gleamed like a row of stars where the headlight struck its polished corrugations.

A Filipino, unaware of the terrific figure behind him, had sauntered from the shadows into the path of light, curious, half-blinded by the glare he faced. As he reached the middle of the road the most terrifying of all cries issued from one of the dark windows.

"_Juramentado!! Juramentado!!!_"

At the cry his face turned sickly green in the glare. He wheeled, uncertain, then ran blindly toward the frenzied Moro who was creeping toward him.

It happened with the swiftness of nightmare. By the time the Americans had picked themselves up from the bottom of the car the Filipino's frantic burst had brought him within twenty feet of the black-clad fanatic. His flying feet lagged to a halt, he stood stock still in sheer horror till the Moro bounded toward him, then turned back toward the car--too late!

The four white men leaped out just as the Filipino turned back toward them with fear-leaden feet, and in the moment of discovery of the Mohammedan who leaped in his shadow, they saw the glistening blade rise above the Filipino's head and fall in a terrific sweep that seemed to end at the point where neck and shoulder join. Before their eyes the body opened like a book.

It seemed inconceivable, but the crazed face of the Moro showed through the cleft which widened as the victim fell.

"G.o.d!" sobbed the Governor.

Sighting the group of Americans the blood-crazed Mohammedan bounded toward them triumphantly, swinging a kris which no longer gleamed.

Bronner had reached the road first and stood in front. His heavy pistol roared six times and at the last shot the leaping Moro spun clear around and fell heavily.

He staggered to his feet and with the same implacable hatred gleaming in his eyes came on toward them, still grasping the awful weapon.

Then, as Matak stepped out to meet him, armed only with a hub wrench, Terry's right hand extended in swift gesture as he shot once. The Moro collapsed to the road, limply, like a wet stocking off a line.

His race was run, but he had taken one unbeliever with him to justify his claim to a choice seat in the Mohammedan heavens. There is a certain impressive earnestness about the followers of Mohammed.

The dismayed villagers poured out into the street, venting their frenzied fear by kicking the dead fanatic. Captain Hornbecker, a round-faced officer, arrived with his soldiers. As the chauffeur had emerged from his hiding place in the brush, the Governor turned matters over to the captain and the four drove on into Zamboanga. All had been sickened by the horror of the swift tragedy.

They stopped at Bronner's house to get Terry's bag, then drove him to the wharf. The _Francesca_ was about to cast off, her dim-lit decks loud with the confusion of misdirected effort.

Terry sent Matak aboard, thanked the three warmly for their kindness to him; after a moment of hesitation he added something that was drowned in a sudden rumble of winch. Two waiting sailors threw off the hawser in response to a shouted signal from the bridge. The three Americans remained at the end of the pier till after Terry had mounted to the deck and the boat swung out into the current.

As they walked along the dark pier the Governor asked: "What was that he was saying? I did not quite catch it."

"I heard only part of it," answered Bronner. "It was something about how queer religions may be--he was thinking of the juramentado."

Wade spoke: "Did you notice how hard the affair got him? Of course it was a pretty stiff sight."

"It wasn't that," said the Major, slowly. "From something he said to me to-day I know that he has had a horror of some day being compelled to kill a man--and the day came. I'm very sorry I didn't stop that Moro devil--yet I hit him three times."

The Governor walked the short distance to his residence. Wade dropped the Major at his bungalow, and sat oblivious to the Major's outstretched hand, musing.

"Major," he said finally, "Matak's selecting Terry for his master--queer, isn't it?"

"Huh!" growled the Major, "I would go with him myself--anywhere!"

CHAPTER V

NEW FRIENDS, AND AN ENEMY

The _Francesca_, no slower and no dirtier than most of the other steamers which ply the inter-island trade routes, had waddled all night and all day through the Celebes Sea. Afternoon found her laboring over a becalmed mirror of sea, past rippled reefs, through cl.u.s.ters of little coral islands from which straggle-plumed palms raised wry fronds in anemic defiance of inhospitable, root resisting soil. Mindanao lay to the west and south, vast, mysterious.

Terry stood alone at the forward end of the small promenade deck watching the third cla.s.s pa.s.sengers, who, though still manifesting the uneasiness of the Malay landsman at sea, were comfortably sprawled upon the dirty hatch covers enjoying the seven-mile breeze created by the movement of the vessel through the still atmosphere. Upon the cooler side of the upper deck the first cla.s.s pa.s.sengers had disposed themselves under the once-white awning. Two natives, a Tagalog planter named Ledesma and his big-eyed, full-bosomed daughter, had withdrawn themselves from the whites and were seated in conscious dignity near the aft rail. Four Americans were grouped up forward, stretched out in full length steamer chairs in the complete physical comfort born of a cooling evening after a blistering day.

Lindsey reached out to pull up an extra chair, beckoned Terry to join them and introduced him to the fourth member of the group, naming him as Sears.

He was a big man, heavy-set, a bit untidy of dress and beard: his face was flushed, and he answered Terry's pleasant salutation with a mattered growl. Lindsey moved in his chair, uneasily.

"Lieutenant," he said, "we want to get acquainted with you. We shall see much of each other in Davao."

Before Terry could respond a harsh voice broke in: "Yes, none of us are stuck on ourselves down here!"

The words fell cold. Sensing the purpose to offend, Terry straightened in his chair to face Sears. He met his surly stare squarely: their eyes battled, but under the level gaze Sears' bloodshot eyes wavered and lowered, the flush deepening angrily with his confusion.

Lindsey hastily summoned the deckboy to take their orders and by the time he returned with the drinks the constraint had abated. Sears, the only one who had ordered whiskey, settled back in his chair in sullen relief from a situation not quite to his liking. Lindsey raised his gla.s.s to Terry.