nd those detailed
to accompany the slaves who carried the bags of rice and _comoties_
(sweet-potatoes), dreaded the trip. Added to the pitfalls of the
obscure trail, were hostile territories to be traversed, and if the
enemies' fire-tree had bloomed, they would surely be attacked and
probably despoiled of their cargo.

"We will need warriors to guard the siwaka, chief," Piang reminded
Kali, and the chief nodded and gave a quiet order. Every man
disappeared from the streets. When they returned, in place of the
gaudy, tight trousers, they were wearing loose, black pantaloons,
the garb of battle. The women, true to the feminine nature, wailed and
cried aloud, but in their hearts they, too, were glad that the quiet,
monotonous days were over, and that before nightfall they might sleep
in some strange cota (fort), slave or wife of the victorious dato.

"Piang," murmured a soft voice at the charm boy's elbow, and he turned
to find the little slave girl, Papita, timidly looking up at him.

"_Chiquita?_" ("Little one?") he questioned.

"Sicto goes with you. Beware of him, for he would kill you!"

"I am not afraid," proudly answered Piang, "but why would Sicto
kill me?"

Solemnly the little girl touched Piang's breast where lay hidden the
sacred charm.

"He would kill you so that he might be charm boy of the tribe,"
whispered the girl. Piang laughed gaily, patted his little friend on
the arm, and bounded to the head of the forming column. Nevertheless
he noticed Sicto's sly, surly glance as the slaves and warriors bent
before him.

Amid beating of tom-toms, wails of women, and howls of dogs, the
column, single file, dipped into the jungle and was lost to sight.

Anxiously Piang watched for signs of the fire-tree as they slipped
along through the enemies' country, but as yet the buds had not
stirred, and he was thankful that the warm rains had not come to coax
them into glow. That whole day the party toiled silently through the
dense cogon grass that covered the mesa. High above their heads waved
the wiry, straw-colored spines. Its sharp edges cut into the flesh,
tore through cloths, stinging and paining old wounds. Not a breath of
air reached them through the impenetrable mass, and the sun beat down
on them mercilessly. For long stretches the path tunneled through the
grass, boring deeper into the tangle, and they were almost suffocated
by the choking dust that stung their nostrils.

"_Iki!_" ("Beware!") called Sict