d men that the first attack
would never have been made on the soldiery had it not been for the
rifles they carried. Human life is cheap among the Moros, and the
inconvenience of that life standing between them and what they want
is soon remedied by a _barong_, unless fear of punishment, prompt
and pitiless, stares them in the face.

From Balambing of bloody memory comes a Moro love story of some
interest and no little humour. It appears that a rich woman there
fell in love with a handsome young slave belonging to a man in a
neighbouring town. After some difficulty she effected his purchase
and married him, despite the fact of his being so far beneath her in
the social scale. Not long after this the happy couple went to Bongao
on a market-day. The lady, being an inveterate gambler, repaired at
once to the cockpit, where she lost so heavily that her remaining
funds were inadequate for the return trip to Balambing. Then a happy
idea struck her. Why not pawn her husband, awaiting her next visit
to Bongao, for although she was married to him, he was still a slave
in the eyes of the law, and she could redeem him at her pleasure.

Acting on this happy inspiration, she sought an audience with the
Governor, explaining through the interpreter her predicament, and
offering her husband as a security for the loan of two hundred and
fifty dollars, gold. The Governor, being a bachelor, was skeptical as
to this marital transaction, especially as the couple had been wedded
beyond the traditional honeymoon. He was afraid that he might have
the bridegroom permanently upon his hands did he advance so great a
sum. This was made plain to the bride, who protested that life would
be quite unendurable without her liege lord, or more properly speaking,
in this case, liege subject; but the Governor was unrelenting.

How the lady finally managed to reach Balambing is not told. Perhaps
some trusting Moro accepted the risk of the marital loan. Perhaps
she induced the owner of a _prau_ to row her across. However the
distance was accomplished, it is to be hoped she was less reckless
in her subsequent gambling, a husband having proved so bad a hostage.

Another love story of different import comes from a village on the
island of Siminor, just south of Bongao. There, it is said, lives an
old Moro who so loved his wife, and strange to say, in this polygamous
community, his only wife, that when she died he watched her grave
long beyond the appointed t