."

"Ask him if he will send this boy for me to the lake to search out
the truth about this rice. Offer him fifty bushels of corn for the
lad's family and tell him I will send him twenty-five bushels whether
he is successful or not."

"Piang! Piang!" the name was on every one's lips. From out the crowd
stepped a slender faun of a youth, slim and supple as a reed. The
gaily-colored breech-cloth wound about his loins supported his bolo
and small knives, and in his tightly knotted long hair, glistened
a creese. With silent dignity he awaited his orders. No curiosity
manifested itself in his face; no question was on his lips; he simply
waited. Lieutenant Lewis marveled at the boy's indifference, but
when the mission was explained to Piang, the light that sparkled in
his eyes and the expressions of excitement and joy that chased each
other across his face removed all doubt from the lieutenant's mind.

Piang was chosen! Piang was to ferret out the secret of the lake! Piang
was to bring honor to his tribe! When it was explained to him that
his mother would be provided for, he abruptly turned from the dato
and dashed off to his hut to procure weapons and scanty provisions. A
silence held the natives as they waited for Piang to reappear. They
all seemed to sense the dangers that were confronting the boy so
eager to undertake the task. Hardly ten minutes had elapsed before
he was in their midst again. He salaamed before the dato and, without
a glance at the others, bounded up the trail, away into the jungle.

"But," protested the lieutenant, "no one has given him any orders,
any directions." The interpreter conveyed the American's misgivings
to the dato. A smile broke over his face.

"Piang needs no directions, no advice. No jungle is too thick for him
to penetrate, no water deep enough to hide its secrets from him. Piang
will bring you news of the rice. I have spoken."

"And to think of the fuss it takes to get a few dough-boys ready for
a hike!" exclaimed the amazed lieutenant.

The jungle was terrible. Everywhere Piang came across victims of
the drought. Little monkeys, huddled together, cried like babies;
big birds, perched on the sun-scorched trees, were motionless. He
stumbled over something soft. Always on the alert, his bolo was ready
in an instant, but there was no need for it. He looked down into the
dying eyes of a little musk-deer. Pity and misgiving filled his heart,
and he wondered if he would be able to