bundles. He hoped his prop wash
wouldn't blow them apart.

"Hang on," he said. "Here we go."

The movement of rice stalks in a paddy near the road gave him wind
direction. He should land from the north. He circled, got into position,
and started in. Scotty leaned forward, eyes peeled for obstructions.

There was excitement in the town below. People in Western clothes and in
scant breechcloths or tight skirts of Igorots were running into the open
to see what was making the racket. Rick hurried the landing a little,
afraid the people would clutter up the strip of road he had chosen. He
put the Sky Wagon down with no sign of a bump and braked to a stop.
Then, because children were getting near, outstripping their elders in
haste to see the plane, Rick cut the engine.

Two Igorot boys, perhaps fourteen years old, were the first to reach the
plane as the three climbed out. The Igorots had the chopped-off bowl
haircut, and they wore breechcloths and nothing else. They stared at the
plane, wide-eyed, then one said something to his friend in guttural
Igorot.

Angel Manotok grinned. Rick asked, "Did you understand?"

"Yes. I speak Igorot."

Scotty said, "They probably were talking about the great sky bird. That
right, Angel?"

Angel's grin broadened. "Not exactly. The English equivalent would be
slang. What he said corresponded to 'Hey, bud, get a load of the real
snazzy four-place job. And dig that retractable landing gear!'"

The boy who had spoken looked at Angel with suspicion. "You no Igorot,"
he accused.

Angel chuckled. "You no Englishman, but you speak English."

The boy laughed. "Okay, Mac. My name Pilipil. I learn plenty plane stuff
at Clark. Dig holes there for pay. See many plane."

Rick and Scotty got over their amazement. It was obvious that the boys
were more than fourteen years old. Their short stature and unlined faces
were deceptive.

"How old are you, Pilipil?" Rick asked.

"Eighteen."

Rick wanted to know more about the boy who had worked as a laborer at
the American Air Force Base at Clark Field, but there was no time
because the rest of the crowd had arrived. The boys found themselves
surrounded by Filipinos and Igorots, all chattering with obvious
excitement and interest.

A Filipino who was obviously someone of importance pushed his way
through the crowd. He was dressed in a business suit, complete with
starched shirt and tie, an odd rig for such a primitive village as
Bontoc, Rick t