of a shout of welcome or of other emotion in unison is a
characteristic trait of the Ifugaos, like their using spoons, and can
be likened to nothing else in the world but our American college yell.

Our reception at Bagabag was much like all the others we had had:
bands, arches, addresses, one in excellent English. But on this
occasion, after listening to a speech telling how poor the people were,
how bad the roads were, how much they needed Government help, etc.,
etc., Mr. Forbes squared off in his answer, and told them a few things,
as that he had seen so far not a single lean, hungry-looking person,
that the elements were kindly, that they could mend their own roads,
and that he was tired of their everlasting complaint of poverty and
hunger, when a little work would go a great way in this country toward
bettering their material condition. This, of course, is just the kind
of talk these people need, and the last some of them wish to hear.

CHAPTER XI

We enter the Mountain Province.--Payawan.--Kiangan,
its position.--Anitos.--Speech of welcome by Ifugao
chief.--Detachment of native Constabulary.--Visit of Ifugao
chiefs to our quarters.--Dancing.

We were now on the borders of the Mountain Province; literally one more
river to cross, and we should turn our backs on Nueva Vizcaya. And
with regret, for it is a beautiful smiling province, of fertile
soil, of polite and hospitable people, of lovely mountains, limpid
streams and triumphant forests. In Dampier's quaint words, spoken of
another province, but equally true of this one, "The Valleys are well
moistened with pleasant Brooks, and small Rivers of delicate Water; and
have Trees of divers sorts flourishing and green all the Year." [20]
Its people lack energy, perhaps because they have no roads; it may be
equally true that they lack roads because they have no energy. However
this may be, the province can and some day will grow coffee, tobacco,
rice, and cocoa to perfection; its savannahs will furnish pasturage
for thousands of cattle, where now some one solitary _carabao_ serves
only to mark the solitude in which he stands.

We crossed the stream about seven in the morning, May 1, and opened
out on an immense field, which we estimated at about thirty-five
hundred acres, a whole plantation in a ring fence, and offering not
the slightest suggestion of the tropics in its aspect. The ground now
broke and we went on down to a bold stream so deep