out to display it, the proudest woman, save one, in all
the Hills.

Slinging the pack across his shoulders he turned for a last look at
the little hut that had sheltered him. Within its cramped walls he had
suffered, had known grave peril, and great joy. A hint of the old
wistfulness flickered about the corner of his mouth, then he left the
hut and strode through the clearing into the woods, halting to wave
cheerfully at the Hillmen who somberly watched the departure of their
future chief.

He dipped over the edge of the plateau and found the Major awaiting
him with Ahma and the young warrior who was to guide him down. From
where they stood at the edge of a wide glade they could see far down
over the tops of the trees that matted the slope. In the clear morning
air the mists which gleamed over the distant Gulf shone white as
billowed snow. There lay Davao! Davao, then Zamboanga, then--! A
fiercely glad light blazed in Terry's gray eyes, then darkened in
anticipation of leaving the Major alone and with that melancholy with
which all men face the knowledge that even as Life turns the pages of
existence into its happiest chapter, she closes each finished page
forever.

The Major spoke first. "This guide knows the shortest route. He will
take you safe past all the man traps--you should sleep but one night
on the trail. Give my regards to Lindsey, Sears,--everybody."

Ahma looked from one to the other, not quite understanding what they
said, but understanding fully what they did not say. That showed in
the face of each.

"Major, I have never said anything about your--how I feel about your
risking the Hills to search for me, when it meant almost certain
death."

Death!... For an instant the Major again stood helpless in the dark
woods behind Lindsey's plantation embraced in coils of steel that
quivered, and heard the crash of delivering shots.... He searched the
white face, in which the lines of suffering from a chivalrously
contracted fever still lingered. An extraordinary warm cataract
suddenly obscured his vision.

"Sus-marie-hosep!" he spluttered. "Good-by."

Their hands gripped hard in an abiding friendship, then Terry turned
to Ahma doubtfully, at a loss as to how to bid adieu to this creature
of the Hills who knew so few of the white man's words or usages. He
found, too, a source of embarrassment in her new capacity of wife. As
she gazed up at him he looked away in boyish confusion.

The Major grasped the