cans to rot in the Hills?"

Boynton fully realizing that the Major was addressing the crowd
through him, and feeling their support, spoke more coolly: "Well,
Major, we're ready to chance that!"

The Major continued, more slowly: "What could fifty men--even such
good men as this fifty would be--do against the Hill People? And how
would they find their way to them? And how would they overcome enemies
they could not find or see, enemies who blow darts that just prick the
skin but bring almost instant death? And if you did reach them, and
kill a large number of them--what would it avail Terry?"

Pausing long enough for this to sink into their minds, he continued
more sternly: "And furthermore and more important, how could such a
force, organized out of worthy motives but nevertheless engaged in an
unlawful enterprise, hope to even reach the Hill Country--knowing that
they would have to first fight their way through a hundred of the best
Macabebe riflemen in the Islands ... with me leading the Macabebes."

No one stirred. They knew the Major. This was no threat, no boast, he
had merely stated a fixed purpose. This was Constabulary business,
would be handled by Constabulary.

"Snap" Hoffman, a husky, keen-eyed youth who enjoyed the unique
reputation of being the best poker player and the hardest worker in
the Gulf, spoke coldly from an adjoining table.

"Bronner, maybe your Macabebes wouldn't fight against people going up
to square things for the officer they lost--I guess you don't know
what they thought of him! But forgetting that part of it--what we
want to know is, what are you going to do about reaching out for him,
or for those who 'got' him?"

The hissing of the acetylene burners sounded loud in the room during
the pause in which the sunburned planters waited the Major's answer.
He spoke to Hoffman, without resentment.

"'Snap,' I had plenty of time to think it all out, on the way down
here. There is just one way to find out about Terry: I am starting
into the Hills to-morrow at daylight."

"With the Macabebes?" Hoffman retained the spokesmanship.

The Major slowly shook his head. The powerful lights glinted upon the
brass buttons of his uniform and etched the deep lines in the heavily
tanned face.

"No," he said. "The Governor has given me a free hand in this, as it
is a Constabulary job--we look after our own. You all know, as well as
I, what it would mean to force our way in. We would get in eventually,