t past, Rick triggered off a half-dozen shots,
aiming high. Tony did the same with the shotgun, sending loads of bird
shot whistling through the red leaves of the dangla bushes.

A screaming madman leaped at them, spear extended. It was Nangolat, face
distorted with hatred and fury. He thrust at Tony, but the archaeologist
knocked the spear aside. Then, as Nangolat's thrust carried him close,
Tony let loose a roundhouse that caught the Ifugao squarely on the jaw,
whirled him sideways, and dropped him like a log in the dust of the
road. Then Rick let out the clutch and the jeep leaped ahead. A spear
went through the windshield and showered glass on him, but he only
squinted his eyes against the flying splinters and fed the jeep more
gas.

Ahead were the red taillights of the truck and the other jeep. The plan
had worked, all right. He didn't know whether or not their supplies were
in the truck, but they would soon find out.

"I'll say one thing about being a Spindrift scientist," Tony said from
beside him. "It is never dull. Do you wild Indians go in for this sort
of thing often?"

"Only when necessary," Rick said. "Of course it has been necessary
pretty often. So we're in practice, you might say."

Tony chuckled. "I'm grateful. You know what Nangolat is working up to, I
presume?"

Rick didn't, and said so.

"He planned to force me to locate the golden artifacts with the earth
scanner. Then, the find was to be celebrated with the sacrifice of a
head. That was the part I objected to most. You see, the head was to be
mine!"

CHAPTER XIII

The Peaceful Profession

The Spindrift campfire blazed high, and its warmth was welcome in the
cold mountain night. Balaban and Dog Meat were out on patrol, although
it was unlikely that any Ifugao had followed the invaders over the
mountain.

Camp had been pitched in a grove of trees on the Igorot side of the
divide. The boys and Tony had taken suitable clothing from their
supplies and were now equipped with sturdy trail clothes and warm
leather jackets. Chahda, similarly dressed in spare clothes, now
resembled an Igorot only because of his haircut.

Tony sipped steaming coffee from a battered mug. He grinned at the faces
around the fire: Rick, Scotty, Angel Manotok, Chahda, and Pilipil, whose
wounded leg had been treated with supplies from the first-aid kit.

"Archaeologist at work," Tony commented. "Digs in musty old tombs all
day, and now and then gets excite