Boy Scouts in the Philippines Part 9

In five minutes Ned made his appearance, rowing swiftly out to the boat.

"They are there!" he exclaimed. "I found the trail mark and the direction. A yard from the last direction I found the triple warning three times repeated. You know what that means?"

"Life or death," was the reply, and the three boys stood looking into each other's faces for a moment without speaking.

"I guess they're going to murder the prisoners," Jack said, presently, breaking the painful silence.

"That is what the sign seems to read," Ned said, gravely.

"Then we may as well be getting out our guns," Frank said.

Ned nodded, and turned toward the sh.o.r.e again. In a moment he faced his chums again, his eyes startled and anxious.

"Where's Jimmie?" he asked.

"He went ash.o.r.e!"

"Didn't you see him?"

Ned turned from Frank to Jack and then pointed toward an elevation toward the center of the island.

The clouds hung low and the rain was still falling in torrents, but under the gray sky and through the downpour of the rain two columns of smoke lifted an eloquent voice.

"That's a Boy Scout call!" exclaimed Jack.

"Two columns of smoke," Frank said, "mean 'Help'! Jimmie couldn't have kindled two fires since he has been gone, could he?"

"Of course not," Jack replied. "That's Pat Mack, the red-headed rascal!"

"I bet he wishes he was back on Chatham Square!" observed Frank.

The boys waited ten minutes, but Jimmie did not make his appearance.

"He's in trouble!" cried Frank. "We better go and see what kind of a fix he's gotten into."

"It may be," Ned said, after a short pause, "that he has seen the call for help, and is making his way in that direction."

"That is just like him!" Jack burst out.

"Are we going in there after him?" Frank asked.

"We are likely to lose him in the thicket if we go," Ned cautioned, "and it seems to me that we ought to wait a short time. He is wise enough not to go b.u.t.ting into a camp."

"What sort of a place is it in there?" asked Jack.

"It is one of the nameless islands of the Babuyan group," Ned answered.

"Like most of the others, it is of volcanic formation. There is a central elevation, and a stream of good size starts up there somewhere and runs into a bay farther north. I was thinking of speeding up and trying to get into the interior by way of the river."

"With the engine barking like a terrier in a rat pit!" said Frank.

"For once," said Ned, with a smile, "you have said a good thing! We've got to lie here and wait until dark. Then we can advance through the jungle and look for their campfire."

"Perhaps they won't build a fire."

This from Frank, who was stuffing his pockets with cartridges.

"Of course they will!" Jack put in. "They will have to keep the wildcats away."

"Wildcats!" laughed Frank. "There isn't a wildcat within a thousand miles of this island."

"Don't you ever think it," Jack insisted. "There are plenty of wildcats in the Philippines, and snakes, and lizards. In fact, the islands are not unlike the Isthmus of Panama in this regard. And monkeys! Well, we've heard enough chattering already to put us wise to them."

As the boy spoke a great chattering broke out in a thicket only a few rods away from the beach. The monkeys seemed frightened, and moving toward the sh.o.r.e.

"Jimmie is in there!" Ned exclaimed. "I wish I could chloroform the little pests. They will betray the presence of the lad."

While the boys waited, wondering what was to be the outcome of the dangerous situation, the sharp whistle of a launch came from the opposite side of the island. The first blast was followed by three others, in quick succession, and then a shot was heard from the interior.

"This must be receiving day for the little brown men!" said Jack.

"There's a boat over there talking to them. What about it, Ned?"

"If you boys will promise not to leave the boat," Ned said, "I'll go ash.o.r.e and try to find out what is going on. This island lies on the rim of the China Sea, and that boat may be from the land of the Celestials!"

"Bringing arms to put Uncle Sam to the bad!" exclaimed Frank. "I'd like to pull their pigtails!"

The boys promised not to leave the _Manhattan_, and Ned rowed ash.o.r.e and struck into the jungle. There was now an uproar of chattering all over the island, it seemed, and he walked swiftly under cover of the racket.

In half an hour he was on an elevation which gave him a view of the China Sea. What he saw caused him to drop suddenly to the ground.

CHAPTER VI.

THE LOW CALL OF A WOLF.

When Jimmie left the _Manhattan_ he thought it would be perfectly easy to follow Ned into the jungle. Before leaving Captain G.o.dwin's charge the boys had been provided with bolos, and the youngster slipped one under his jacket before leaving the motor boat. This he used to good purpose, though with great caution, as he crept through the thickets.

As is well known, it is almost impossible to make headway in a Philippine forest without chopping down creepers and tangled vines. The bolo is always in use by parties hunting or exploring. It is a short, heavy sword, or knife, similar to the machete of Cuba, and is frequently used in warfare. In the hands of an expert it becomes a very effective weapon.

Gaining the thicket, Jimmie stood still and listened for some indication of the presence of his patrol leader. But the patter of the rain, the rustling of the great leaves, the scolding of the wet and alarmed monkeys in the trees about him, served to shut out any other sounds.

He walked as fast as he could through the jungle toward the center of the island, or in the direction which he believed to be the center.

Always his way was uphill, and now and then he was obliged to draw himself up some acclivity by pulling, hand over hand, on a creeper trailing from a tree.

Certain that he could find his way back, he did not blaze the way. Here and there he hewed down a th.o.r.n.y limb which tore at his clothes, or cut a creeper from a tree, but he made no effort to mark his path.

Occasionally he came to a little glade, a s.p.a.ce clear of trees but hemmed in by the eternal jungle just the same. Here the way was choked with rank cogon gra.s.s, growing from eight to twelve feet high. He found this as mean a growth to pa.s.s through as any briar patch or cane-brake.