did not know it, he continually
referred to him as his chief, put all of the fine phrases in his name.
The warriors along the wall weighed every word.

Terry told Ohto of their great pleasure in having entered the Hills,
and of their appreciation of their reception. He extended the
greetings of the White Chief across the waters at Zamboanga, tried to
impress him with the interest the White Chief took in the Hill People
and of his good will toward them: told of the advantages that would
follow intercourse with the lowlands, of the good that would come to
his people from contact with others. Finally he dwelt upon the folly
of isolation, of the benefits of commerce and schools and other
elements of civilization.

The flare of the pitch torches brought out the sincerity of his face.
The old chief listened, inscrutably, his unwavering gaze fixed upon
the earnest speaker. Before the aged infirmity of Ohto Terry stood in
apt symbol of lithe youth.

It was apparent that Ohto did not grasp much of what Terry strove to
impart, for the primitive imagination was powerless to understand
institutions he could not conceive. He listened gravely but gave no
inkling of what went on behind the mask of his wise old eyes.

Terry finished, awaited expression of his decision. For a long time
the patriarch remained silent, idly opening and closing the blades of
his knife. The Hillmen ranged along the wall, who had listened
attentively to Terry's arguments for opening up their country to the
outlanders, waited their chief's pronouncement with set faces and
gleaming eyes, their brown bodies still as bronze figures.

At last the patriarch raised his head high, so that the snow white
hair fell back across his blanketed shoulders. He spoke so slowly
that Terry was able to follow him with whispered interpretations into
the anxious Major's ear.

"Many rainy seasons have washed my hair white. I live to see strange
things--I never thought to see a white man's face within my
walls--except, perhaps, upon a spear, grinning.

"When I was born--and no other man or woman of my tribe lives who saw
the sun of that far day--they said, the wise men, that much good would
come to my people before I died.

"They read it in the stars, they said. No great ill has come, except
to my own blood. All gone--wife, sons, grandsons. Never again will the
Agong ring for one of Ohto's blood!"

They felt the greater pity because the proud old chieftain demanded no
s