ly tied a crimson sash, the fringed
ends heavy with glass beads and seed-pearls. A campilan (two-handled
knife, double-edged), and a pearl-handled creese (dagger) were thrust
into the sash. With arrogant tread he advanced, the ranks dividing
like a wave before an aggressive war-prau. His piercing black eyes
expressed utter indifference, and he ignored those gathered to witness
his triumph. Only once he seemed to smile when the little slave girl,
Papita, timidly touched his arm. The rebuke that fell upon her from the
others, brought a frown to the boy's face, but he continued to advance
until he stood beside Dato Kali Pandapatan and Pandita Asin. Here,
like a sentinel giant, bereft of his nearest kin, one monster tree
remained standing. It seemed to whisper to its distant mates, who
nodded answer from their ranks at the edge of the clearing. Under
this tree Piang paused, gazing fixedly at his beloved chief.

"Piang," said Kali, "the time has come for you to prove that you are
the chosen of Allah."

A perceptible rustle followed this.

"On the night of your birth, the panditas announced that the charm
boy, who was to lead the tribe to victory, would be born before
the stars dimmed. Your cry came first, but there was another, also,
fated to come to us that night. The mestizo (half-breed) boy, Sicto,
opened his eyes before that same dawn, and you are destined to prove
which is the chosen Allah." Anxiously the Moro men and women gazed
at their idol, Piang. His manly little head was held high, and the
powerful shoulders squared as he listened.

The sun, but lately risen, bathed the multitude in its early light
and chased the light filigree of moisture from the foliage. Through
the branches of the solitary tree, wavy sunbeams made their way to
flicker and play around Piang, and one bold dart seemed to hesitate
and caress the mass of glossy, black hair.

"Sicto!" called Kali. There was another murmur, but very different
from the one that had preceded Piang's coming. From the same hut
came forth another boy. A little taller than Piang, was Sicto, lean
and lank of limb. His skin was a dirty cream color, more like that
of the Mongolian than the warm tinted Mohammedan. His costume was
much like Piang's, but it was not carried with the royal dignity of
the other boy's. Sicto's head was held a little down; the murky eyes
avoided meeting those of his tribesmen, and his whole attitude gave
the impression of slinking. The high che