soft beams of light reflected from the bamboo
sides of the structure and the heavy dew on the thatched roof
glistened like a myriad of fireflies. A wide path led to the porch,
and near this there was set a tripod, fashioned of saplings, from
which was suspended the little agong the Major had heard during the
night.

As they neared the foot of the ladder that served as stairway the
Major started violently as two brown forms appeared at their elbows;
at a word from Terry they stepped aside to let the two white men pass,
one calling softly to a guard stationed at the top of the ladder. The
door was thrown open and they mounted the bamboo rungs and entered the
house of Ohto.

Pine torches illuminated the room, which was some twenty feet square,
roughly sided and floored with bamboo slats; there was no ceiling, so
that a quarter of the high-pitched thatching of the house showed
overhead. A dozen middle-aged Hillmen stood along the wall, evidently
the influential men of the village. Across from them an aged Hillman
sat in a rough-hewed, high-backed chair.

Terry advanced and addressed the old man, his whole manner bespeaking
a sincere regard and respect; then he beckoned to the Major.

"This is Ohto," he said. "I will interpret for you if he does not
understand your dialect."

The Major faced the fine, austere old patriarch. The brown face had
been wrinkled bewilderingly by the heavy-handed years, but his eyes
still glowed with something of the pride and spirit of his youth.
Wrapped in a thick blanket of hand woven _kapok_, he confronted them
with that air of dignity and distinction common to those who from
early life have dominated the councils of a community.

The Major silently tendered his gifts. Ohto motioned to one of his
retainers and in a few monosyllables ordered their distribution among
the people, the red cloth to the women, the beads to the children and
the matches to be divided among the young men. As he retained nothing
for himself the Major produced a new pocket knife he carried, and bade
Terry make Ohto understand that it was for himself. The savage bent
his hoary locks over the treasure, examining the mysterious blades
that opened and closed at his will, and accepted it as his own.

The Major attempted to address the chief in his scanty Bogobo,
stumbled, and turned to Terry beseechingly.

"You tell him, Terry. You know what we've got to say better than I
do!"

So Terry spoke, and though the Major