The astonished warriors looked with misgiving from one to the other, but Kali answered firmly:
“It shall be so, Piang.”
The Moros were quickly assembled for the advance, and Kali paused by the side of Piang’s raft:
“If we are driven back, Piang, I will give three calls of the mina-bird. Answer likewise and retreat as quickly as possible.”
“Forward, Kali Pandapatan,” answered Piang with great dignity. “We will not retreat.”
Like ghosts in the night the little handful of men parted from their fellows and courageously faced the river and its dangers. The stream, swerving to the left, flows on to the apex of the Big Bend. As if regretting its departure from the true course, it doubles back and returns to take up its original direction at a point separated from its first departure by only a few rods. Between the two points is a waste of murky soil and sand, covered by dense growths of the jungle’s choicest variety of obstacles. Gloomily Piang contemplated the morass that lay between him and freedom. Long he sat, looking into the distance where he could almost see the river as it completed the curve and swept on to the ocean. What would he not give to be safely on the other side? Suddenly he sat up very straight. Why not? The sand was soft, the current swift. If he could only make a narrow ditch across the flats. Pulling his raft up to the right side of the river, he jumped to the bank, but when he sank ankle-deep in the soft, sticky earth, he climbed hastily back. Poling along he searched for a solid footing, but everywhere the marshy soil gave, and he abandoned his attempts to land. The night grew deeper, blacker.
“Why not, why not?” he whispered again. The others came scurrying up in response to his excited call.
“My brothers, Allah has sent me wisdom,” he announced. “It is your duty to obey me!” Eagerly they listened, glad of any distraction, but when Piang explained that he wanted them to abandon their safe bamboo floats for the treacherous flats, home of crocodiles and vermin, there was a murmuring protest. Anger blazed in Piang’s eyes.
“Am I not charm boy?” he demanded. “Any one who refuses to obey me will be thrown to the crocodiles!” Gradually the dominant nature overruled their timidities, and the protests subsided. Following Piang’s directions, strips of bamboo were cut, and the charm boy constructed light frames for his feet. They looked like snow-shoes, and when he bound one securely to each foot and jumped lightly to the bank, there was a cry of surprise. Piang, the wonderful, was indeed sent by Allah to guide them!
In a twinkling each Moro was supplied with similar mud-shoes, and like giant land-crabs, they flitted off across the marsh. Too wise to begin before reconnoitering, Piang led his men to the banks of the stream below to Big Bend. After hasty calculations he set them to work digging toward the head waters, following a line of ratan which he stretched to guide them.