ion behind the captives, spears in hand, grim.

Ohto advanced slowly through the trees and emerged into the open space
about the crag. The Hillmen gave way respectfully and he walked to the
base of the cone through a wide lane opened up for his passage. Age
slowed his steps but he walked erect, his head held high in simple
dignity and gratitude for the silent homage his people offered.

Pausing near the base he surveyed the evidences of cleavage of the
ancient rock, the tribe's historic rallying point. Then he raised his
eyes to the Agong.

The dense circle of Hillmen bated their breath while the beloved
patriarch communed with the spirits of the long line who had heard the
happy song of the bronze-lipped gong. A deep hush pervaded the
plateau, now lighted with the last white rays of the dipping sun.

The sage turned to his people, his furrowed face burdened with an
added melancholy. His voice came low and weak, so that the assemblage
bent forward in strained silence to hear his fateful words. Terry
gripped the Major's arm, whispering the translation.

* * * * *

"Listen, my children. We asked for guidance, and a sign is sent to the
east of Ohto's lodge--a happy omen.

"The breaking of this age-old stone betokens the breaking of our
ancient custom ... no longer will we bar the stranger from the Hills
... and those who are with us now may go in peace, or stay in peace."

He paused, and a great sigh of relieved suspense rose from the throng.
The four armed men left their position behind the two white men and
melted into the dense circle.

Terry gave the Major's arm a last ecstatic squeeze. "It's working out
just as we planned! I'll be back soon."

He raced through the trees toward Ohto's house, returning in a couple
of minutes to find Ohto still standing with bowed head before his
people.

A rustle of whispers roused him, and he raised his silvered head to
behold the loveliness of his stolen foster-child. Summoned by Terry,
Ahma had come out of the shadows of the trees and stood at the forest
end of the lane made for Ohto's passage through the crowd.

The old man extended his hand toward her in compelling gesture and she
went to him with the agile swiftness of a half-wild thing. A moment he
lightly stroked the rippling mass of hair, then he turned to his
people again.

"Ohto said that the Tribal Agong would ring for the marriage of this
white daughter of our tribe--but now--"