eutenant, don't conclude that all
of the Moros are bad, or even troublesome. The truth is that most of the
Moros on the island of Mindanao are good fellows. They're lazy, but not
notably vicious. There are a few of the old-time chiefs--dattos, they
call 'em--who make trouble every now and then. These dattos never
respected the Spanish Government, and they don't feel any more kindly
towards the United States Government. That is because these dattos have
always lived by plunder, and they always intend to do so. For one
thing, these raiding dattos don't like to have white men on Mindanao.
The spread of civilization here means that the old-time dattos will be
driven into the wilds, and that there won't be any more plunder or
blackmail money to live on. These Moros out yonder wouldn't have
bothered me, this time, if I had paid the money their chief demanded."

"How much did he want, Mr. Seaforth?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"Whew! That would be a good deal of money to pay out."

"For the sake of peace, and a chance to carry on my plantation business,
Lieutenant, I might have paid it--if once would have been enough. But it
wouldn't have been. If I had acceded to his demand the datto would have
let me alone for this year. He would have sent the same demand next
year, however. In fact, the datto would have put me down on his list as
being good for ten thousand dollars a year tribute. The first year that
I failed to pay this tribute my plantation would be destroyed, and
myself, my family and friends put to the knife. So it's either fight or
get out of here for good. It seems a strange thing, doesn't it,
Lieutenant, to live under the Stars and Stripes, and yet to have to pay
tribute to a savage for the right to do business?"

"It isn't right, it can't be, sir--and by the great howitzer, Uncle Sam
will put a stop to all this business!" replied Lieutenant Prescott
hotly.

"I hope so," returned Mr. Seaforth. "The Datto Hakkut, however, has been
doing business here on Mindanao since before the Spaniards left, and my
opinion is that he will do business as long as he lives. This fellow
Hakkut is a wily old scoundrel, who often falls into traps set for him
by our soldiers. Yet, just when the soldiers are about to close the
trap, they find that Hakkut isn't there. His escapes are marvelous."

"Did Hakkut himself come to see you, Mr. Seaforth?" inquired the young
lieutenant.

"Hakkut? I've never seen the fellow, nor has any other