"It is from ... a girl. I left home—oh, foolishly. But she is on her way over here, with my sister and brother-in-law. That's where the present comes in!"
"But—but—what about Ahma?"
"Ahma?" Terry asked, in his turn astounded. In Terry's bewilderment the Major understood that his own unhappiness had been unfounded. At his shout of delight the Hillmen all turned toward the white men's hut, wondering at the joyous antics of the strange pair.
In a few minutes the Major had calmed sufficiently to discuss their affairs.
"But, Major," Terry asked him, "why did you think that we—Ahma and I—that we—you know?"
"Why, everything. I saw you leave her early this morning over there in the woods. Then, this afternoon—the way you sat together, and—and everything!"
"Last night—why, she helped me fix up that 'sign' I told you about: and to-day we were talking about you—she has asked me a million questions about you—and about white girls. She has a jealous streak in her—as you will learn!"
More explanations, and Terry suddenly reverted to their plight.
"Now everything depends upon that sign I fabricated. If it fails—or if an unfavorable natural sign comes first.... You know I must be in Zamboanga on the twenty-sixth, some way."
He lapsed into reverie. The Major fidgeted, reached for his hat and stepped to the door, a bit shamefaced.