.

He carefully refolded the sheet and placed it in his shirt pocket,
then turned to the Major, his eyes darkened with such a joy as the
Major had never seen.

"This message will cost you a wedding present, Major!"

"What now?" asked the Major. Things were moving too fast since he
reached the Hills.

"It is from ... a girl. I left home--oh, foolishly. But she is on her
way over here, with my sister and brother-in-law. That's where the
present comes in!"

"But--but--what about Ahma?"

"Ahma?" Terry asked, in his turn astounded. In Terry's bewilderment
the Major understood that his own unhappiness had been unfounded. At
his shout of delight the Hillmen all turned toward the white men's
hut, wondering at the joyous antics of the strange pair.

In a few minutes the Major had calmed sufficiently to discuss their
affairs.

"But, Major," Terry asked him, "why did you think that we--Ahma and
I--that we--you know?"

"Why, everything. I saw you leave her early this morning over there in
the woods. Then, this afternoon--the way you sat together, and--and
everything!"

"Last night--why, she helped me fix up that 'sign' I told you about:
and to-day we were talking about you--she has asked me a million
questions about you--and about white girls. She has a jealous streak
in her--as you will learn!"

More explanations, and Terry suddenly reverted to their plight.

"Now everything depends upon that sign I fabricated. If it fails--or
if an unfavorable natural sign comes first.... You know I must be in
Zamboanga on the twenty-sixth, some way."

He lapsed into reverie. The Major fidgeted, reached for his hat and
stepped to the door, a bit shamefaced.

"Terry," he said, awkwardly, "if you don't mind I think I'll run over
toward Ahma's house. There is a lot to talk over with her now and I
guess I--"

His words were drowned in a resounding crash that blotted out all
other sounds. The village shook with the jarring impact of some vast
missile striking near, the air filled with the roar of shattering
rock and heavy rumble of sliding earth.

The Hillmen bounded upright at the first terrific crash and stood
transfixed, witless, superstitious fear written upon every brown face.

A dead silence followed the dying out of the last thunderous echoes,
then a child whimpered, another, and the women took up the whining
note. A warrior, one of the sub-chiefs from a neighboring village,
raised a braceleted arm in astounded gesture t