ession. A lumbering carabao swayed lazily forward,
and on each side walked four stalwart Moros, ever heedful of the
dignified figure astride the beast. Dato Kali Pandapatan rode in
silence. Occasionally he gazed down into the deep valleys or off in
the direction of Ganassi Peak, but the sorrowful, patient expression
never left his face.

Where was Piang? For three days the boy had been missing, and Kali
guessed only too easily what had taken him away in such haste. A
few days before little Papita had mysteriously disappeared. It was
whispered that the notorious Dato Ynoch (Ee-nock) had kidnapped her,
and Kali was already preparing an expedition against the marauder. He
felt the strain of civilization for the first time, for he had given
his word never to assemble his warriors without the permission of
the white chiefs at Zamboanga. But Piang, the impatient, the valiant,
could not brook the delay, and had in all probability started after
his little friend alone. Kali's messengers should return to-day,
and he had ridden far out to watch for their coming.

The procession reached the clearing that gave a full view of the
sea. In the distance the eye could discern the curving coast of tiny
Bongao; Kali was impervious to the summer beauty and youth of the
sparkling ocean, to the charm of the dainty island so gaily chatting
with the garrulous waves. He did not see the graceful, white rice-birds
or the regal aigrets flitting about among the trees; he saw only the
vast, restless ocean. There were no boats in sight.

Slowly the willing carabao was turned homeward, and the aged monarch
sorrowfully gave up hope of sending succor to Piang that night. The
recent storm had probably delayed his envoys, and he must wait the
_Sabah's_ monthly visit, which would come the next day.

At the door of his hut Kali Pandapatan was helped from the royal
beast's back and up the steep ladder entrance into the cool dusk of
the interior where industrious women squatted at their several tasks.

"I miss the child's lively chatter," Aioi was saying sadly.

"She was a trying pupil, I can tell you," remarked the woman at the
loom, "but a winning child." She leaned closer to Aioi and whispered:

"Did you know that Papita had been asked in marriage?" The surprised
look on Aioi's face made an answer unnecessary.

"Our chief is said to have spurned the offer. You know he has always
hoped to prove Papita's noble birth; he wanted Piang to have her,
so