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Down an avenue made for her by hostile looking women, crept a tiny, terrified figure. It was draped in the softest Eastern stuffs; jeweled anklets and bangles tinkled merrily. A gauzy veil of wondrous workmanship swathed the figure, but through it all Piang recognized his beloved Papita. Slowly she approached the altar; fearfully she raised her eyes to the man who awaited her there.
Piang has come back to us," cried the delighted Papita. "You will not frown and scowl again, will you, Piang?" A shadow fell upon the manly young brow of Piang. He had transgressed; he had forgotten his responsibility for the moment and had allowed his glee to banish the dignity of his calling: Throwing the snake into the basket, he quietly walked away from the merry-makers.
Dato Kali Pandapatan rode in silence. Occasionally he gazed down into the deep valleys or off in the direction of Ganassi Peak, but the sorrowful, patient expression never left his face. Where was Piang? For three days the boy had been missing, and Kali guessed only too easily what had taken him away in such haste. A few days before little Papita had mysteriously disappeared.
Tauntingly Piang laughed, swiftly he and Papita paddled, and the smoke from the torch enveloped them in its protecting waves. Coming abreast of the war-prau, Piang loosed the other basket of bees. On sped the vinta, and ever nearer came the great estuary that gave upon the Celebes Sea. The sounds of the sufferers grew fainter, and finally Papita and Piang were again alone in the great night.
A slave boy ran lightly forward and sank on his knees before the pandita. On his head he bore a basket covered with cool, green leaves. Praying and chanting, the priest uncovered the basket, revealing two beautiful dazzlingly white flowers. "The champakas!" cried Papita in amazement as the rare flowers were exposed. An admonishing hand was placed over her lips.
"Now that she is about to become our chief's first wife, she does not weep and cry to be taken home." The priestess commenced the ceremony that was to last all night. Chants, prayers, admonitions, all, Papita responded to with renewed vigor, and her eyes furtively glanced toward a spot near the curve of the creek where a slender reed swayed unceasingly.
"They will return and assemble the war fleet, Papita; they will pursue us into the ocean. If the water is rough, we cannot cross the bay to Parang-Parang in this vinta. We must hide near the coast and make our way homeward on foot." Morning fairly burst upon them. Twilight in the tropics is a name only, for the sun rises and disappears abruptly, and it is day or night in a few moments.
A knowing smile flitted across Kali's face as he caught the irrelevant reply: "Papita is she safe?" There had been a great drought. Plague was sure to follow such weather, and the Moros were already dying of starvation. "Rice, rice!" was the cry, but everywhere the crop had failed, and the natives were desperate.
A maiden must prevent a youth from confronting her; the youth, while attempting to gain his position, must beware lest the maiden present her back to him. Fast and furiously they whirled and dodged, and a shout went up from the bystanders as each unfortunate dancer was compelled to retire. Finally there were only three contestants left; Papita, Piang, and Sicto.
The swift ones seemed to be all four-oared, and he knew that he must have a fleet, light vinta to elude the Dyaks. He spied a tiny white boat tied to a gilded post, and his heart nearly stopped beating when he read the name "Papita" on the bow. "Papita!" Piang scornfully whispered. "Papita, indeed!" His lip curled, and he glared through the rushes at the hideous Sicto.
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