CONCERNING MR JOSEPH GOBBITT, CAPTAIN BASIL HAYLE, AND THE HEAD OF ALBERT DUNK

Mr Joseph Gobbitt was tall and stout, and possessed a pair of side-whiskers of which he was distinctly proud; consequently, though he certainly did appear impressive when carrying the bag—he was vicar’s churchwarden in a suburban church—he looked almost ridiculous when he landed on the quay at Igut, attired in a very tight khaki suit, with an immense khaki-coloured helmet on his head. At least, he appeared ridiculous to Mrs Bush, who watched his arrival from the balcony of her house, and, for the first time since Basil Hayle had left, five weeks previously, her face lighted up with a smile.

Basil Hayle had not been dismissed in consequence of his crushing defeat at the hands of Felizardo’s bolomen; in fact, greatly to his surprise, he had not even been reprimanded. Commissioner Furber had been quick to see that really he, himself, was to blame for having [115]sent the small force of Constabulary against the outlaws; and he was not anxious to have Basil back in Manila, telling all men of what had happened on the mountain-side. Consequently, he had sent Basil fifty fresh men—from the Island of Samar, like those who had been killed—and had ordered him to proceed to the northern side of the range, and build a regular stockaded camp in the neighbourhood of one of the villages; meanwhile, Captain Bush’s Scouts were to watch the southern side of the range, learning the lay of the country, endeavouring to obtain information concerning Felizardo and his band, and, as far as possible, preparing the way for a large expedition, which the Government intended to despatch in a few months’ time.

From first to last, Basil Hayle had only remained ten days in Igut, but the time had sufficed to complete his infatuation for Mrs Bush, and to confirm his detestation of her husband. At first by accident, then by design, he had met Mrs Bush practically every day, whilst he had barely spoken to Bush or his white associates. Old Don Juan Ramirez, the Spanish merchant, had told him all about the lives they led—of the mestiza girls at the other end of the town, and the drinking bouts in the spirit shop at the corner of the plaza; with the result that Basil had considered himself perfectly justified in taking the part of Mrs [116]Bush against all the others, in showing his respect for her, and his scorn for them—which was very chivalrous in theory, and very injudicious in practice, as he had realised the moment he received orders to leave Igut. Still, in the end, his parting from her had been admirably unemotional; and if she did cry for hours after he had gone, and if his feelings did find vent in Language, no one in Igut had been aware of these facts.

In Europe and America, where men and women are discreet, such things do not happen—at least they are supposed not to happen—for fear of the Law, or the Church, or of the Mightiest One of all, Mrs Grundy; but in the Tropics, especially in the Philippines, and more especially under the shadow of places like Felizardo’s mountains, where Death is stalking by your side all day, squatting just outside the circle of firelight at night, conventions are apt to lose much of their force. Basil Hayle was in love with Mrs Bush. That would have been very wicked elsewhere, possibly it was wicked in Igut; but what was wholly admirable was that, in the circumstances, Basil Hayle did not become an open convert to the Law of the Bolo, and deal with Captain Bush according to that code. But this is a view of the case which few could understand, unless they had lived with bolomen as the background of their lives.

Basil Hayle had marched away up the valley [117]to the end of Felizardo’s range, over the pass which formed the boundary of the old outlaw’s territory, and down into the rich hemp lands on the other side where, near a village called Silang, he had built a stockaded post, after the custom of the Islands—big nipa-covered shacks, surrounded at a little distance by a high palisade, with a platform at a convenient height, and little watch-towers at each corner; and then he had sat down, and drilled his little brown men, and taught them to shoot, and, incidentally, taught them to love him above everything else on earth, and had waited patiently for the coming of Felizardo, or the ladrones, or the head-hunters, or any one else who was in search of trouble, being tired of looking for trouble for himself. Yet, all the time, he was thinking of Mrs Bush, wishing he could write, but not writing for fear of the letter going astray; though, had he but known, she heard of him, of his safety and his continued good health, every few days, and she concluded that the messages came from him, never suspecting that the servant who delivered them received them from a certain clerk in the Supervisor’s office, the same clerk who had sent word concerning Basil and Mrs Bush to Felizardo; and whence that clerk now obtained the messages it is not hard to guess. Old Felizardo or Dolores Lasara could have told you?…. [118]

When he landed at Igut and found that there was no hotel in the place, Mr Joseph Gobbitt turned angrily to John Mackay. “Most scandalous thing! You should have warned me about this. We may be here a day, even two days. What are we going to do?”

The Scotchman answered without removing his cigar from his mouth—Mr Gobbitt hated to see an employé, a mere paid person, smoking in his presence, as Mackay had already divined. “I guess the Bushes will put you up, whilst I shall go to old Don Juan’s,” he answered.

Mr Gobbitt snorted, not liking the casual disposal of himself, and his temper was not improved when, without the slightest warning, he found himself the centre of an unusually vigorous dog-and-pig fight, none of the combatants in which was over-clean. “Most scandalous thing,” he repeated, “most scandalous! I wonder what the police can be about to allow it. I shall certainly summons the owners if I can?…. I am sure I see nothing to smile at, Mr Mackay,” he added with great dignity.

A moment later, Captain Bush lounged up, and nodded to Mackay. “Hullo, John. What’s on now? Coming across soon?” indicating the spirit shop with a jerk of his thumb. He was passing on, to see if there were any mails on the launch, when Mackay stopped him. “Here, Captain. This is Mr Joseph Gobbitt of London, [119]who has a letter of introduction to you from the Commission.”

Captain Bush pulled himself together. “Glad to meet you, sir. If you’ll wait a moment, we might go up to the house together. It is only a step. I suppose you’re not going on. No? Well, you must stay with us. My wife will be delighted. Here, muchachos, take the Senor’s luggage up to my house.”

Captain Bush was in an exceptionally good humour, having just won some money off the Treasurer; but, in addition to that, he had understood instantly that the stranger must be a man of position, probably a wealthy English merchant and his own state of chronic insolvency made it necessary for him to lose no chances.

Perhaps Mrs Bush was not favourably impressed with this suddenly-arrived guest; certainly, he was not favourably impressed with her, or at least he did not like her. Amongst men, even amongst those of far better social position than himself, he was able to hold his own by reason of a certain aggressive strength of character; but when he found himself in the company of a lady, he was hopelessly at a loss, and, as is the way of his kind, revenged himself by abusing her afterwards.

Mrs Bush did not stay long in the room. “I see you have business to discuss,” she said, “so I will leave you till dinner. Be sure and look after Mr—Mr Gobbitt, John.” [120]

At first, Mr Gobbitt was not very communicative, telling his host little beyond what was contained in the letter of introduction; but after a while, under the Scout officer’s skilful handling, he began to thaw, and finally unfolded the whole of his scheme. After all, he told himself, why not? This American had to give him active aid, was bound to know everything very shortly, whilst his deposit of six thousand dollars secured him against possible competitors.

Captain Bush was a little puzzled. He was an experienced soldier, despite his recently-acquired habits; he knew the Islands well, and therefore could see various weak points in the business; on the other hand, this man Gobbitt obviously had capital, obviously had the Government behind him; and it would be most unwise to venture on any interference at that stage. Later on, perhaps, there might be a chance of turning the affair to account; but at the moment it was safer merely to provide the carriers and equipment for which Mr Gumpertz asked, and detail half a dozen Scouts to go along with the party and keep the carriers in order. Once the expedition was across the pass, it would be Basil Hayle’s task to look after it, and Captain Bush grinned to himself as he thought of the possible trouble which this stout and pompous old man might cause the Constabulary officer. [121]

At dinner, Mrs Bush made an attempt to talk to Mr Gobbitt, then, finding they had no interests in common, relapsed into silence. When she rose to leave the room, somehow she had to open the door for herself, whereat she raised her eyebrows slightly. Mr Gobbitt, deep in conversation with his host, never seemed to notice her go.

After a while, Captain Bush yawned. “It’s slow here. Ever seen a Filipino town at night? No, I don’t suppose you have. Would you like a walk round?”

They went first to the spirit shop, where the Englishman became almost jovial. It may have been the sense of being free for once from his frock-coat; it may have been the cocktails on which Captain Bush had insisted before dinner; it may have been the native spirit which the Supervisor suggested he should taste; but whatever the cause, time seemed to pass very quickly indeed, and when, about midnight, the school teacher suggested they should have a stroll down to the lower end of the town, Mr Joseph Gobbitt, merchant and churchwarden, had no objection to make.

When he awakened in the morning, in the big spare room which Mrs Bush had prepared for him, he had rather a vague recollection of the walk home. Other things were vague also, but of two things he was certain—that he had a splitting headache, and that the beauty of the [122]mestizas was not overrated. When Captain Bush came in, the merchant mentioned the former fact, whereat his host laughed, and went on to refer to the latter, thereby making Mr Gobbitt rather uncomfortable.

Mrs Bush did not come down to breakfast that morning, and she did not trouble to make any excuses. She had heard certain rumours from her maid, which had sent her white with passion. She was used to her husband’s ways—but her guest! It was absolutely abominable. Mr Gobbitt, on his part, was thankful for her absence. He made no reference to the fact, however, nor did his host; and as soon as the meal was over, they went out together to make arrangements for the carriers.

“There’s a road part of the way, twenty miles or so up the valley, and you can ride so far in a bullock-cart”—Mr Gobbitt had declined the offer of a horse—“but from there onwards it’ll be a case of walking,” the Scout officer said.

The merchant sighed. He was not a good walker; then he thought of the profits he would make out of the trip, and straightway became reconciled to the idea.

The arrangements were quickly made, thanks to the help of the Presidente, and Mr Gobbitt breathed more freely. He was anxious to get away as soon as possible for various reasons, of which Mrs Bush was one.

As they walked back to the house, the [123]Englishman remembered a question he had meant to ask before. “Did you ever meet a son of my late partner, Dunk—Albert Dunk, who was our manager in Manila? He died near Hippapad some months back.”

The Captain shook his head. “He never passed through here. Probably he landed at Catarman, further round the bay. You might have gone in that way, too. I wonder old Gumpertz didn’t suggest it?…. No, very little news of that sort drifts across the mountains to us. You see, there’re so few white men on that side for a good many miles; then, of course, you get plenty again.”

Meanwhile, John Mackay had strolled out of the town, carrying a small switch as his sole weapon. About a mile past the last shack, he sat down at the edge of the cocoa-nut grove, lit a cigar, and puffed away contentedly. A few minutes later, a little man, clad in blue jean and wearing two formidable-looking bolos, emerged from the bush some twenty yards away, looked cautiously up and down the grove, then came forward.

“Good-morning, Senor,” he said.

John Mackay nodded. “Good-morning, Simon. Can a message go to the Senor Felizardo? It is this—I am going round this side of his mountain and across the pass with an Englishman. There will be six Scouts to look after the carriers, that is all. He will leave us alone?” [124]

The little man grinned. “Assuredly he will leave the Senor alone, as always. Only he will ask—where does the Senor go there?”

“Down the northern valley. Not on to his mountains at all.”

“Very well, Senor. The message will go;” and the outlaw disappeared as silently as he had come.

Felizardo said afterwards that John Mackay should have been more explicit as to his exact destination, in which case the latter part of this story would have been very different?….

Mr Joseph Gobbitt did not like the twenty-mile ride in the cart, which was drawn by a couple of water-buffalo, beasts for which he seemed to entertain a most wholesome dread. He was absolutely shaken to pieces, as he told John Mackay, with what that naturally-silent person seemed to consider wearisome persistency; yet he liked the climb over the pass still less; and when they reached the northern valley, he insisted on a rest of two days, despite the protests of John Mackay, who urged: “Why, it’s only some fifteen miles now to Hayle’s stockade at Silang. He can put you up comfortably there, whilst I have a run round and look at the land. From what I can see, it is all right. We are at a fair elevation, even here, quite high enough above sea-level.”

But Mr Gobbitt was firm. “I will rest here, and then we will go straight on. I see no [125]reason for wasting time going to this stockade, which appears to be well off our route.”

The Scotchman shrugged his shoulders, and rested too; then, on the third morning, they moved down the valley slowly, cutting across from one side to another, so as to get an accurate idea of the whole area. On the fifth morning their task was practically complete. Mackay’s verdict was wholly favourable. “It’s valuable land,” he said—“as good as any I know, except, of course, that in Samar. Only, it is curious no one has made use of it before. But I suppose they were afraid of the ladrones or of old Felizardo.”

“Who is Felizardo?” the merchant demanded.

The Scotchman jerked his thumb in the direction of the mountains. “He’s the chief up there. An outlaw.”

Mr Gobbitt flushed. “Rubbish! They assure me that all that sort of thing has been put down, and I can see it now for myself.”

Mackay shrugged his shoulders. “Very well. I suppose you know best. You are my employer, and I have come here merely to advise you on the nature of the land;” and, from that point onwards, he declined to discuss anything but hemp and hemp-growing.

The following morning they decided to turn back. Mr Gobbitt was now in great good-humour. There was no question that, at the price arranged, including the payment to Mr [126]Gumpertz, or rather to Mr Hart on behalf of Mr Gumpertz, he would be making an extra-ordinarily good bargain. He forgot the trials of the journey, that horrible cart, his sore feet and aching limbs; and thought only of what those trials would bring him ultimately. They were then taking a route slightly different from that by which they had come, and were just thinking of making a halt for breakfast, when, to the surprise of every one, they saw the roofs of some nipa-shacks through the trees.

The place proved to be the most miserable little village Mackay had ever seen. There was not a soul in sight, and, as the carriers filed in, they looked at one another with anxious, questioning faces.

John Mackay turned to the serjeant of the Scouts. “What is this?” he asked. Then, as the man shook his head, a sudden thought struck the Scotchman, and he clambered on to the veranda of the largest house, a dilapidated place of some size, pulled aside the matting at the door and went in, revolver in hand. Half a minute later he came out again, a little pale. “As I thought,” he said. “Head-hunters.”

The natives looked at one another with wide-open eyes, whilst Mr Gobbitt’s jaw dropped suddenly. “What … what do you mean?” he quavered. “Head-hunters? What are they?”

“People who hunt heads—your head and [127]mine, for instance.” The Scotchman’s temper was up. “There’re a dozen heads hanging up inside, if you want to see, including a white man’s. We must get out of this, quick.”

However, it was already too late. As he spoke a score of practically naked savages, armed with spears and primitive bolos, appeared on the edge of the clearing. “Up here, all of you.” Mackay grasped the situation instantly, but, even whilst the carriers and Scouts were scrambling on to the platform of the shack, the enemy secured two heads.

Mr Gobbitt was one of the last up; in fact, had not three carriers assisted him, he would have been in a bad case, for the little ladder had given way, and climbing was impossible for him.

Meanwhile, the Scouts had begun to blaze away, hitting no one, but none the less preventing any rush; then Mackay himself took one of the carbines, and dropped a head-hunter stone-dead—a lesson which was not lost, for the rest promptly withdrew to cover.

“They will wait till evening now,” the serjeant remarked, “then they will attack. They will not try and burn the place because of those,” pointing towards the ghastly trophies hanging from the roof.

Mackay nodded, and went on with his task of making loopholes in the walls, although, as he told himself, six carbines and a revolver would not go very far as means of defence. [128]

Mr Gobbitt was lying back against some of the hastily-thrown-down packs, panting. He had lost his helmet, and both his coat and trousers were torn. “It’s disgraceful,” he said, “absolutely disgraceful! I shall report it to the Consul or to the Foreign Office. Why, I actually saw them kill two of the men in my presence.”

He spoke to nobody in particular, but Mackay overheard him and smiled grimly, thinking of the killing which was yet to come; but, in spite of that, when the merchant had recovered sufficiently to ask questions, he spoke hopefully, though he added: “You see now why no one has made use of this hemp land, and why they offered it to you cheaply.”

Mr Gobbitt’s business instinct overmastered his fear, and he sat up suddenly. “Do you mean that Mr Gumpertz knew?”

Once again the Scotchman shrugged his shoulders. “It is quite possible,” he said dryly. “And if we had taken a slightly different route, you would have bought it, not knowing.”

The merchant lay back again thinking of many things, of his present danger, of his narrow escape from buying land having such undesirable inhabitants, of his deposit which he might not return to claim. Then he happened to glance upwards and received the greatest shock of his life, for there, amongst those grisly treasures of the village, was the head of Albert Dunk. [129]

John Mackay looked round sharply at the cry, and hurried to his employer’s side. As soon as the Scotchman could make sense out of the other man’s almost incoherent utterance, he reached up and pulled down the trophy, which he placed beneath a blanket in the corner; then he gave Mr Gobbitt half a glass of neat brandy, the only liquid they had, and strove, without much success, to calm him down.

“We shall get out of it all right, we shall get out of it,” he repeated. “And then we’ll get Basil Hayle to come along, and clear out this gang.”

“Can’t we go now?” the merchant asked feebly.

“And be cut to pieces before we’ve gone a quarter of a mile? No, we must stay here, and chance beating them off when they attack to-night. Then they’ll probably leave us alone altogether.”

It is always a weary job, waiting for savages to come and attempt to kill you, but it becomes even more than a weariness when you are half-mad with thirst, when you know there is water near by and you dare not go to it. John Mackay found it long; and the Scouts and carriers found it long; but it is doubtful whether Mr Joseph Gobbitt, lying in the corner, was conscious of the passage of time. His thoughts were just one long nightmare, [130]in which Albert Dunk’s head, Commissioner Gumpertz, two dead carriers outside, and a bearer cheque for six thousand dollars played the principal parts. Once only was his mind clear for a few minutes; and that was when he remembered Albert Dunk’s bearer cheque for ten thousand pesos—five thousand dollars. That had been cashed just as the drawer was starting for this same district. How he wished that head could speak! Then he fell a-shuddering at the idea.

John Mackay watched the sun set with unusual interest, possibly because he did not expect to see it rise again. “The attack will come soon now,” he remarked to the serjeant, who was endeavouring to smoke, despite his parched mouth.

The little man nodded. “Yes, Senor. I, for one, am glad I went to Mass last Sunday. There was a girl who asked me to meet her afterwards”; then, for the fiftieth time, he tried the action of his carbine?….

“The head-hunters have them in the big shack. They will kill them all soon after sunset.” There was a perfectly matter-of-fact ring in the messenger’s voice.

Felizardo knit his brows. He had given certain orders to the head-hunters, and he was not used to being disobeyed; moreover, he had a very kindly feeling towards John Mackay, who had once done him a good turn; consequently, [131]he did not share the messenger’s cheerful frame of mind.

“What are you at the outpost doing, that you allow this?” he thundered. “You know the orders I have given to those savages, to leave all Englishmen alone. I suppose they think that, because I left them unpunished last time, I shall do the same again. Go down now, at once, and tell Manuel to make them withdraw, and then go to the Constabulario at Silang, and tell the Captain to come and fetch Senor Mackay and the fat fool away. Of course, you will tell the Captain you come from me. What else would you say? I can trust him.”

The result was that dawn found the little garrison, half-dead with thirst, but still awaiting the attack; and an hour after dawn John Mackay caught sight of Captain Hayle’s tall figure coming through the trees, with thirty of his men at his heels.

When Mr Gobbitt had swallowed a quart or so of water, followed by some brandy, his courage began to revive. “I told you we should be all right,” he said peevishly to Mackay; “I never thought they were in earnest”; then he remembered the two carriers, slain in his presence, and that ghastly head, and he went a little pale, though the shuddering had ceased.

They buried the heads—a useless formality, for the head-hunters unearthed them within a few hours—and then Basil Hayle escorted the [132]party back to his stockade, to rest for a day or two. That evening, whilst Mr Gobbitt was having a much-needed wash and change, Mackay turned suddenly to his host. “By the way, I’ve got a message for you from Mrs Bush. She says she is very well, and hears of you often through the natives.”

Basil did not look up from the cigar he was cutting. “Thanks very much,” he said briefly.

Mr Gobbitt felt much better after the evening meal, so much better, in fact, that he could discuss matters calmly. “And did you know anything of the fate of my late partner’s son?” he asked.

“Of course I did,” Hayle answered promptly. “Didn’t they tell you in Manila? It was before I came to this side of the range; but Lieutenant Stott at Catarman told me, and I saw the copy of the report he sent to the Commission. He asked permission to hunt those savages down, but he never got any reply. Oh, all the Commissioners knew, and I supposed it had been made public.”

The merchant got up suddenly and began to pace the rather rickety floor. “I see it now,” he growled, “I see it all. Either I am to buy this land which no one else will look at, because of these abominable persons who tried to take my head; or else I shall not come back at all, and they will keep the deposit. I will lay the matter before the Consul—no, I will lay it [133]before the Foreign Office. I will have compensation. I—I——” and he spluttered with rage.

Mackay winked at Basil, who smiled in return, unseen by the merchant, who went on. “It is scandalous, an outrage. I can see how I have been misled. They say the Islands are at peace; and yet two men are killed actually in my presence, and no arrests are made. Whilst the head of my late partner’s son is used as a trophy! Abominable! Even in Igut, when I wished to summons the owners of those most offensive pigs, they laughed at me. Which is my quickest way back to Manila?”

“Through Catarman,” Basil answered. “That is the route you should have come, only in that case Stott would have told you of Mr Dunk’s death. Do you see?”

Mr Gobbitt’s first visit in Manila was to the Consulate, when he demanded to see the Acting-Consul instantly. The Consul received him without effusion.

“Had a good time in the bush, Mr Gobbitt? You look a bit thinner—yes, a lot thinner. What can I do for you?”

“It is a long story,” Mr Gobbitt began; whereupon the Acting-Consul put his feet on the table, and selected an extra large cigar.

“Fire away,” he said; but before the merchant had got very far the cigar had been allowed to go out, and the official was all attention. When it was finished, he drew a deep breath. [134]“You had a lucky escape, a very lucky escape;” there was no levity in his voice now. “But you must admit that I warned you against Gumpertz. And I am afraid we can do nothing in the matter.”

“Why? What are you here for then, sir?” It was the voice of the British tax-payer talking to his employé.

The Consul explained patiently. “As regards the negotiations. You were alone, were you not? Yes, your word, the word of an unknown man—pardon me, I mean unknown in America—against that of a high official. And I take it—I must speak plainly—you offered something in the nature of a bribe. You did? A present.” He smiled a little grimly. “The price asked shows that, and it comes to the same thing. Graft, they call it here. That fact destroys your case at once.”

Mr Gobbitt breathed heavily. “And how about my deposit of six thousand dollars? The receipt is at the bank.”

“Then ask the bank to collect it,” answered the Consul; “they may succeed.”

“May succeed, sir! They must succeed.” Again there was the British tax-payer note.

The Consul smiled. “We will say we hope they succeed. Still, after your other experiences——”

“They’ve had the old boy this time, Blackiston,” the Consul said to the Vice-Consul, when [135]the visitor had departed. “Proper murder trick. Seems to have shaken his nerves badly. It would have shaken mine, too. Head-hunters—ugh!”

The Vice-Consul closed the letter-book wearily. “Serve him right. He shouldn’t be so cock-sure and pompous.”

One of the senior clerks from the bank took the receipt of Commissioner Gumpertz to the Palace, presently returning with a grave face. “They know nothing about any such sum, sir; and it is neither a regular official receipt, nor is it the Commissioner’s signature.”

Mr Gobbitt gasped. “Why, he gave it to me himself! There must be some mistake.”

The clerk shook his head. “They are positive, sir.”

“Did you see him sign it?” the manager asked, a little coldly.

The merchant mopped the perspiration off his forehead. “No, I cannot say I did. He went into another room. But your cashier can identify the messenger—one of those belonging to the Palace.”

When the cashier came, he remembered the incident perfectly. “It was a large sum, and I should not have handed it to a strange native; but I knew the porter at the hotel was reliable.”

It was the last straw, so far as Mr Gobbitt was concerned. “They have swindled me out [136]of twelve hundred pounds,” he groaned, fanning himself with his handkerchief the while; then a thought struck him. “You have the numbers of the notes? You can trace them?”

The manager looked doubtful. “Some, perhaps. We will do our best. Come in again to-morrow, Mr Gobbitt. Meanwhile, if I were you, I should say nothing, and stay indoors. You need rest.”

In the morning, the merchant found the bank manager very cold and distant in his manner. “We have traced several of the notes,” he said. “In each case they have come from most questionable places—places of no repute, in fact. I presume you have witnesses to prove where you were that night.”

“I was in my room at the hotel. I went to bed very early, as I was starting early next morning.”

“Ah!” There was no mistaking the tone. “So no one saw you after dinner. That is a pity.”

Mr Gobbitt brought his hand down on the table with a thump. “Do you mean to insinuate, sir, that I myself passed those notes at those infamous places? Never in my life”—he had forgotten Igut—“never in my life was I in one.”

“I mean to insinuate nothing,” the manager answered wearily. “Only you cannot prove that you were not out, and, if you make a [137]fuss, the Commissioners will quickly prove that you were. They will get police, native officials, and perhaps even a native judge or two, to remember having met you. You can do nothing, and I can do nothing, and, if you will excuse me, I am very busy. Good-morning.”

Basil Hayle spent several hours in drawing up a report concerning Mr Gobbitt, the head-hunters, and Felizardo, then he read it through again, and straightway destroyed it.

“The less said, the better,” he muttered. “They’ll never believe anything to the old man’s credit, and they might shift me over it.”

So, instead of sending the report, he marched out by night to the head-hunters’ village, hoping to catch them there; but only found the ashes of the houses, and had one of his men wounded by a spear thrown in the darkness. Then he went back to his stockade at Silang, where he sat down, and thought of Felizardo and of Captain Bush, and most of all of Mrs Bush, and cursed at the dreary inaction, and prayed that the ladrones would come along and give him a fight.