etty big order for a shave-tail (greenhorn) Lewis," General
Beech had said at parting, "but I bet you and that dark shadow of
yours will make good." The hearty handclasp and kind smile warmed the
young officer's heart. General Beech was unusually young for his post
as division commander, and he had endeared himself to his followers
by his kindly manner and dignified directness, and Lewis would have
faced death for him.

"Thank you, sir," was all that he said, and "the dark shadow" salaamed
according to his custom.

That night as the Americans swung along under the dome of brilliant
stars, a question arose as to the meaning of juramentado.

"Piang," Lieutenant Lewis said, "tell us about this custom of your
people, won't you?"

Bashfully the boy hung his head and wriggled his toes. He was ashamed
of his fierce people since the good American had taken him into his
home, but they prevailed upon him to explain, and among them they
gathered the following story from his funny, broken English:

When a Moro wearies of life and wishes to take a short cut to paradise,
he bathes in a holy spring, shaves his eyebrows, clothes himself
in white and is blessed by the pandita. The oath he takes is called
_juramentar_ (die killing Christians), and he arms himself with his
wicked knife and starts forth. Selecting a gathering, well sprinkled
with Christians, he begins his deadly work, and as long as he breathes,
he hews right and left. Piang told them that he had seen one strong
Moro juramentado pierced by a bayonet, drive the steel further into
himself, in order to reach the soldier at the other end of the gun,
whom he cut in two before he died.

The horror on the faces of his listeners made Piang pause, but they
urged him on.

"Since we are headed toward Jekiri's sanctum, I guess it behooves us
to get all the dope goin' about these fellows," interjected a recruit.

Piang's big, black eyes filled with mystery when he described how
the juramentado rides to the abode of the blessed on a shadowy,
white horse, taller than a carabao, just as dusk is falling. Indeed,
he assured them that he had seen this very phenomenon himself and
shivered at the recollection of the unnatural chill and damp that
crept through the jungle while the spirit was passing.

"Bosh, Piang, you mustn't believe those fairy tales now. You are a
good American."

"Sure, me good American, now," grinned the boy.

There is nothing to differentiate the island