CHAPTER XIV
AHMA
In the center of the moonlit clearing there stood a larger house thanany in the village. The soft beams of light reflected from the bamboosides of the structure and the heavy dew on the thatched roofglistened like a myriad of fireflies. A wide path led to the porch,and near this there was set a tripod, fashioned of saplings, fromwhich was suspended the little agong the Major had heard during thenight.
As they neared the foot of the ladder that served as stairway theMajor started violently as two brown forms appeared at their elbows;at a word from Terry they stepped aside to let the two white men pass,one calling softly to a guard stationed at the top of the ladder. Thedoor was thrown open and they mounted the bamboo rungs and entered thehouse of Ohto.
Pine torches illuminated the room, which was some twenty feet square,roughly sided and floored with bamboo slats; there was no ceiling, sothat a quarter of the high-pitched thatching of the house showedoverhead. A dozen middle-aged Hillmen stood along the wall, evidentlythe influential men of the village. Across from them an aged Hillmansat in a rough-hewed, high-backed chair.
Terry advanced and addressed the old man, his whole manner bespeakinga sincere regard and respect; then he beckoned to the Major.
"This is Ohto," he said. "I will interpret for you if he does notunderstand your dialect."
The Major faced the fine, austere old patriarch. The brown face hadbeen wrinkled bewilderingly by the heavy-handed years, but his eyesstill glowed with something of the pride and spirit of his youth.Wrapped in a thick blanket of hand woven _kapok_, he confronted themwith that air of dignity and distinction common to those who fromearly life have dominated the councils of a community.
The Major silently tendered his gifts. Ohto motioned to one of hisretainers and in a few monosyllables ordered their distribution amongthe people, the red cloth to the women, the beads to the children andthe matches to be divided among the young men. As he retained nothingfor himself the Major produced a new pocket knife he carried, and badeTerry make Ohto understand that it was for himself. The savage benthis hoary locks over the treasure, examining the mysterious bladesthat opened and closed at his will, and accepted it as his own.
The Major attempted to address the chief in his scanty Bogobo,stumbled, and turned to Terry beseechingly.
"You tell him, Terry. You know what we've got to say better than Ido!"
So Terry spoke, and though the Major did not know it, he continuallyreferred to him as his chief, put all of the fine phrases in his name.The warriors along the wall weighed every word.
Terry told Ohto of their great pleasure in having entered the Hills,and of their appreciation of their reception. He extended thegreetings of the White Chief across the waters at Zamboanga, tried toimpress him with the interest the White Chief took in the Hill Peopleand of his good will toward them: told of the advantages that wouldfollow intercourse with the lowlands, of the good that would come tohis people from contact with others. Finally he dwelt upon the follyof isolation, of the benefits of commerce and schools and otherelements of civilization.
The flare of the pitch torches brought out the sincerity of his face.The old chief listened, inscrutably, his unwavering gaze fixed uponthe earnest speaker. Before the aged infirmity of Ohto Terry stood inapt symbol of lithe youth.
It was apparent that Ohto did not grasp much of what Terry strove toimpart, for the primitive imagination was powerless to understandinstitutions he could not conceive. He listened gravely but gave noinkling of what went on behind the mask of his wise old eyes.
Terry finished, awaited expression of his decision. For a long timethe patriarch remained silent, idly opening and closing the blades ofhis knife. The Hillmen ranged along the wall, who had listenedattentively to Terry's arguments for opening up their country to theoutlanders, waited their chief's pronouncement with set faces andgleaming eyes, their brown bodies still as bronze figures.
At last the patriarch raised his head high, so that the snow whitehair fell back across his blanketed shoulders. He spoke so slowlythat Terry was able to follow him with whispered interpretations intothe anxious Major's ear.
"Many rainy seasons have washed my hair white. I live to see strangethings--I never thought to see a white man's face within mywalls--except, perhaps, upon a spear, grinning.
"When I was born--and no other man or woman of my tribe lives who sawthe sun of that far day--they said, the wise men, that much good wouldcome to my people before I died.
"They read it in the stars, they said. No great ill has come, exceptto my own blood. All gone--wife, sons, grandsons. Never again will theAgong ring for one of Ohto's blood!"
They felt the greater pity because the proud old chieftain demanded nosympathy, but merely stated the pathetic fact with a simple dignity.
He was silent for a time, lost in an old man's memories. Then heturned to one of the four retainers who flanked his chair.
"I am lonely," he said. "I would that Ahma would sit by me."
As the swart Hillman crossed the springy floor and rapped gently upona closed door, the Major saw that every black eye focussed upon itwith eager expectancy. For a moment the room was palpitant withsuspense. He looked to Terry for explanation, but turned back at thegrinding crunch of the hingeless door which opened to frame a fairervision than the Major had ever dreamed, asleep or awake.
A white girl had stepped out of the other room and paused a momentagainst the dark background of the door to sweep the room with bigblack eyes.
A single piece of white cloth, fringed with bat fur, was draped abouther waist and fell below her knee, the ends passing up in front andback of her round body to fasten loosely at the right shoulder. This,with a little sleeveless garment fashioned, bolero-like, out of thedelicate bat skins, and a pair of sandals contrived in such a way asto bring the hair of the deer skin against the little feet, was allshe wore.
Bronner scarcely realized the symmetry of the slender form, so lostwas he in the spell of the dark eyes that plumbed his for one longsecond, leaving him tingling with a curious conviction that his soulhad been bared. Vivid of white skin, of jet eyes, of a mass ofmidnight hair that hung loose to her waist, she radiated the fire andspirit of vibrant youth.
"God! Such a girl--up here--all these years!" he breathed.
She left the doorway and crossing the room with the light grace ofslender, untrammeled limbs, sank down on a bench drawn up at Ohto'sside. He set his withered hand contentedly upon the mass of her hair,and in a moment he spoke again.
"If the prophecies of the wise men are to be fulfilled, it must besoon. The good fortune of which they spoke has not come to mypeople--and Ohto cannot tarry long in wait.... Death calls an old man.
"It may be that the prophecy had to do with the coming of these whitemen. It may be that it would be better to no longer guard the Hillswith balatak and stake and spear and poisoned dart. It may be that ourpeople would be stronger--happier."
Again he halted his slow monosyllables, searching the faces of theHillmen who waited upon his words: utter devotion and loyalty wereapparent in every brown face. Proudly conscious of their fidelity, heregarded them kindly, then his thoughts reverted to the girl at hisside, and he gently stroked the lustrous black hair. She sat quietunder the caress, her head bent down in an attitude that revealed thewhite line from shoulder to throat, her eyes sheltered behind longlashes. At last Ohto raised his head again and when he spoke he gazedstraight at Terry.
"Ever since we ... found ... her, this lovely flower has flourished.She now blooms in full blossom in my house--a white orchid on agnarled old root.
"Before Ohto leaves the Hills he would like to see Ahma safe,--guardedand cherished by one who loves ... and knows. Though not of Ohto'sblood, she is of Ohto's heart. I will that when she finds a strongertree upon which to fasten--the Tribal Agong shall be rung for her."
Astonished out of their racial imperturbability, the Hillmen eyed eachother at this departure from the ancient custom of ringing th
e GiantAgong only for those of chieftain blood. The girl's wide eyes raisedto Terry, shifted momentarily to the Major, and lowered.
The old man concluded: "You both speak fair, but I do not know whatis best for my people. I do not know.
"We must await a sign to guide us. The Spirit will speak to us throughlimocon or nature, will solve the problem that you have brought to us... and will decide your fate.
"Until the Spirit speaks, you are safe with us, white men.
"I am weary now."
* * * * *
The venerable savage gathered the blanket more closely about his thinshoulders and closed his eyes as if exhausted. One of the four whostood behind him pointed to the door to indicate that their audiencewas at an end. As they passed out, the Major turned for a last look atAhma, who was leading the old man into his room.
In the middle of the clearing he stopped short.
"Say, you forgot to translate what Ohto said after she came into theroom!"
Terry smiled whimsically up into the chagrined face: "That's right, Idid! But you seemed to lose interest in his words!"
As they made their way through the village Terry explained Ohto'sdecision, concluding with: "And so he awaits one of their 'signs,' theappearance of the limocons, or some freak of weather or naturalphenomenon like an earthquake--they read prophecies in everything."
The Major sat down heavily upon the bench. He was genuinely disturbedat this new phase, as he had thought their hazards passed.
"Why," he exclaimed, "that puts us square in the Lap o' Luck! Think ofjust waiting around for an earthquake or something--or for some darnedbird to sing! With the opening up of this country as the stake--yesand our own hides. Sus-marie-hosep!"
Terry had taken his usual seat on the threshold, chin in hand, hisface bathed in the light of the moon that now hung high overhead andflooded the mountain top with a friendly glow. The cool night breezescame in strong gusts which rustled the foliage about them.
Calmed by Terry's attitude of quiet confidence and strength, the Majorfaced their problem coolly, sought a way out. For a while his mindraced with plans, but each died in the minute of inception. He couldnot influence winds, or induce wild birds to sing in given quarters ofthe compass, or devise earthquakes. He fell to thinking of Ahma.
Later, observing Terry closely, he asked: "And what are you dreamingabout now?"
Terry stirred as though awakened: "Oh, home--mostly."
The Major wanted to talk, but the patient distress in the voicedeterred him from what seemed intrusion.
Later he suggested sleep. Terry lighted a torch and stuck it into thedoorway, so that while lighting both rooms its fumes carried into theopen. The Major discarded shoes and leggings, and wrapping himself inhis blanket lay down with his pack as pillow. Terry waited till theMajor had disposed himself as comfortably as possible, thenextinguished the torch and went into his own room, closing the doorbehind him.
The Major stared through the dark at the closed door, wondering, asusual, what was going on behind it. Then as a gust of cold wind blewin through the window he snugged down into his blanket.
Another and stronger gust, and he heard the door into Terry's roomcreak as it swung to the breeze. Looking up, he learned at last.
In the rectangular patch of moonlight which entered Terry's roomthrough a raised window he saw him by the side of the rough slattedcot, kneeling in that most ancient of attitudes, in which the childrenof all the ages have bowed to supplicate and render homage to theKeeper of the Great Secret.
The Major's eyes moistened. As the last clear phrase reached him heagain stood flattened against the wind swept crag--"on the top of theworld," and he now understood the "dozen words spoken on anothermountain." They came from Terry's lips low, simple, majestic:
"--is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory.... Forever...."