clined to be fussy about little things but magnificent in big
things, and thoroughly imbued with the idea that his work of
protecting the natives against their own sloth and filth was the only
interesting problem in the universe. Alarmed at Terry's report, he
ordered his horse saddled and rose heavily to don his field clothes.

Terry expostulated. "Doctor, you ought to wait till it cools off."

"Lieutenant, disease spreads all the time--it takes no time off
duty--so why should I?"

He came out fuming over a missing button: "Confound it all! I never
have--how do you keep so immaculate, Terry? You always look as if you
were on your way to a dinner or dance!" Wiping the perspiration from
heavy jowl and neck he lumbered about the room collecting medicine
cases, saddle bags, two big canteens, finally answering Terry's
question.

"No, you can't go with me--if I need you I'll send for you."

Terry followed him downstairs and helped him mount the ridiculously
small pony, then watched the sweating, cussing, bighearted doctor ride
out into the sun on his errand of mercy. As the tough little pony bore
his heavy burden into the trail and out of sight in the brush, Terry
decided humorously that Casey was right--bigger ponies were needed.

During the afternoon the _Francesca_ had limped in and out of port.
Among his official mail Terry received a confidential memorandum from
Major Bronner that erased the softer lines about his mouth:

Zamboanga, 12/18/191-.

Memo for Lieut. Terry.

Last night a notorious criminal, Ignacio Sakay, passed
through Zamboanga enroute to Davao.

Sakay was identified with Malabanan in some of the latter's
most vicious undertakings, was convicted of brigandage and
has been but recently released from Bilibid Prison.

Sakay is not a leader but is bold and absolutely relentless.
Among the natives he was known as "Malabanan's stiletto,"
and was supposed to do all of the killing.

You may look for immediate action from these men: Malabanan
has doubtless been awaiting his arrival.

Destroy this memorandum.

BRONNER.

Terry read the terse communication twice before lighting it with a
match and scattering the charred remnants over the polished mahogany
floor. He passed a grim afternoon with the Macabebes on the target
range, where the scorers wagged bu