its neck soothingly to calm
the unaccountable terror apparent in the nervous tossing of head and
distension of red nostrils. As he guided him along the bank a sound of
disturbed water brought Terry's head up sharply: heavy ripples circled
away from a spot near the opposite shore just under the ford. As he
peered keenly he discerned the indistinct outline of something that
looked like a heavy log sink slowly into the dark depths. The pony
fretted until they left the river-bank to follow an old trail that led
into the woods.

Here Terry held him to a walk, riding cautiously, pausing at each turn
of the trail to scrutinize every inch of brush intently, ears alert to
faintest sound. He knew he was nearing the deserted huts. He advanced
several hundred yards thus, searching for the clearing, listening.
Discerning well ahead a space where the sky was open above a cleared
area he dismounted, hurriedly knotted the reins to a sapling, snatched
his extra pistol from the saddle holster, then crept forward through
the early forest twilight, wary, both pistols at full cock.

Creeping round the first bend in the trail he searched the near
thickets with penetrating keenness: he knew Malay treachery. His eyes,
flashing from side to side, focussed upon a dim, motionless figure
outlined in the shadow beneath the trunk of a large tree that stood on
the edge of the clearing. His back was to Terry and he seemed
engrossed in some silent drama that was being enacted in the clearing
out of Terry's field of vision.

Terry crept toward him soundlessly and when he had covered half of the
distance that separated them he was overjoyed to recognize him as
Matak. As Terry's lips parted in a low call, Matak glided from the
tree like a swift shadow just as a shriek of pain and terror rent the
silence of the woods, followed by a vowelled curse and the sound of a
heavy hand on naked flesh.

As Terry sprang forward to the edge of the clearing he heard behind
him the distant sound of ponies driven recklessly through the
underbrush, and knew that the Macabebes were coming up!

He halted at the edge of the clearing, unobserved by the crowd of
bandits who had sprung out of the three disused huts when Matak leaped
into the open: with ready rifles and bolos they awaited the command of
their white-eyed leader, who stood in front of them, startled, but
coolly confronting the Moro. Ledesma's daughter, who had fallen under
Malabanan's heavy blow, staggered to