natives that it is all bosh. But they
insist it's all true, and stay away--and loss of man power means loss
of money they both need this year. Both of them think the stories are
just the usual Bogobo exaggerations."

Terry thought Cochran not quite convinced: "What do you think?"

"I? Oh, I don't know. It's hard to swallow the stories--man-eating
snakes and crocodiles sound all right on the lips of the old Spaniards
but where our flag flies things seem to sober down. Yet I've usually
found that back of all these Bogobo tales there is an element of
truth: and two years ago when I was clearing my place I shot an
eighteen-foot python. Stumbled on it sleeping--glad it was!"

The evening monsoon had set in, rippling the surface of the sea and
humming its cooling refrain through the rigging. Casey yawned heavily
and went below to seek the planter's early sleep. Cochran remained
with Terry for a half-hour, enlightening him with a running talk of
the problems confronting the planters. He was well educated,
progressive, and backed by ample family means had developed the best
holding in the Gulf. He told Terry that on this trip he had succeeded
in persuading thirty timid Visayan families to settle upon his
plantation despite their native fear of all things Mindanaoan, and
that his profits for the year would return him sixty per cent of the
capital he had invested in his place.

"You will soon understand conditions, Lieutenant," he declared as he
rose to go below. "Most of the planters need labor, and they need
capital." He threw his cigar butt over the rail, debating the ethics
of uttering what might be thought a criticism of his associates. "And
they need farming intelligence most--too many of them were army men or
government men before coming down here, yet they tackle a highly
specialized form of tropical agriculture with utter confidence! They
aren't farmers--they're just heroes!"

He half-turned to go, hesitated: "Lieutenant, you're going to like it
down here--because we're going to like you. Now, of course it's none
of my business, but if I were you I would keep away from Sears'
place--he will make his threat good. He has it in him to become a
pretty bad man--but as I say, it's none of my business. Goodnight,
sir."

After Cochran had gone, Terry, sleepless, slowly walked the gently
rolling deck. Ledesma stood at the rail near the forward lifeboat
gazing into the soft shadows which shrouded the muttering ship. At
Te