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Updated: June 3, 2025
When Kali was only a few yards off, Piang screamed: "Boia! boia!" It was a race with death, and what a miserable death for Piang, their idol! The boy grew cold and sick as he waited. Suddenly the raft paused, held in check by Kali's pole. Piang almost fainted. What was his chief doing? In a moment he realized that the quick action had saved his life.
How impossible to deal with the crafty sultan according to Christian standards! He should be given treatment that would bring him to terms quickly, and Lewis longed to get a chance at him. Suddenly an idea flashed into his head. He hurried Piang, bidding him find a shorter cut home, as night was gathering.
Another came, and another. Piang paid no attention to the visitors, continuing to hide the flame in his hands. Lewis almost spoiled it all by laughing outright, for it was indeed a ridiculous sight to see the little wild things consumed with curiosity. Walking upright, their funny hands dangling from the stiff elbows, they advanced.
There was something about the old hag that turned his blood cold. The distant rumble became individual howls, and Piang suddenly realized that he was being hunted. But why, and by whom? The innocent paper in his hand crackled. The old hag was very near, was about to touch him. With a shriek, Piang jumped back. Her hands were festered; her face and neck were covered with white splotches.
Her voice seemed to put new life into the suffocating boy. With one supreme effort Piang managed to loosen his arm and struck once, twice. The python, now bleeding profusely, hissed and writhed, still tightening around the boy. Once again Piang thrust, at last reaching the creature's heart.
The pursuers flocked to the spot, and Piang listened as they beat the bush, clamoring for their victim. They were so infuriated at the new arrival's unsociability that they would probably kill him if they found him. Piang crouched back in his cramped quarters. The tiny white ants announced their disapproval of the intrusion by vicious stings, but Piang did not move.
With a will they sturdily plied the crude tools and before the blackness of the night had been lifted by the rising moon, the excited little party was crowding around Piang as he examined the few remaining feet to be accomplished. Like a general meeting a crisis, Piang sharply gave his orders: "Tooloowee, take your pole and stand on the far side of the ditch.
"For your timely arrival, and your courage. Your name shall be sent to the great chief at Washington." The words were repeated to the jungle boy, and his manly little chest swelled with pride. "Piang, I am about to decorate you with the emblem of our government; these infantry cross-guns I shall pin on your breast."
Cautiously the more daring ones responded, and soon the whole population was gathered around the visitors. Curious to see what the strangers were showing the dato, Piang slipped quietly up behind and caught sight of the most beautiful colored cloth he had ever seen. "Bandana," the pale man called it. Piang longed to possess it for his mother; how she would love to wear it for her gala head-dress!
But they were relieved by the appearance of Ricardo, the interpreter, who explained to the dato that the troops were not hostile, but had come to make friends with the Moros. Proudly Piang swung along at the head of the column, guiding them to his recent platform home. Camp was pitched on the shore, and the engineers commenced work at once.
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