Faster, faster flew the scoops and broad knives; deeper, wider grew the ditch that was to form a new river-bed. Piang was everywhere. He flew about on his light frames as lightly as a faun, directing the construction of new tools, calculating and measuring for the ditch.
Once he heard a call from the man guarding the rafts. A troop of wild hogs, attracted by the comoties, was trying to reach the rafts. Piang lighted a torch and hurled it among them. Crocodiles lurked near, and he ordered torches kept burning to frighten them also.
New difficulties confronted Piang. Would the water not at first rush through the ditch with such force that the rafts would be dashed to pieces? He held a branch in the current; it was torn from his grasp. With great foresight, he ordered all the floats to be taken up the river and securely moored. Back to the ditch he flew. Yes, yes, it was going to be successful! Before the attack was made by Kali Pandapatan, Piang would have the rafts through the cut-off, safely on their journey to the estuary. How surprised the dato would be when Piang advanced against the enemy from the other side of the Big Bend! He laughed softly, hugging himself in boyish delight.
Away he pattered toward some men who were apparently in difficulty.
“Halamantek!” (“Leeches!”) they called. They were pulling the slothful creatures off each other, but as soon as they freed themselves from the pests, more fell from above or crept up from the mud. Piang had foreseen this difficulty and had supplied himself with a small gourd filled with cocoanut oil, strongly saturated with cinchona (quinine). Offering some of his small store to the men, they gratefully rubbed the mixture into their flesh and bent to their task again. Piang exhorted them to work, warning them if the ditch was not completed before moonrise, all would be lost, and off he danced blending in with the night and its secrets like a picturesque pampahilep (jungle imp).
Only Moros could have accomplished so difficult a task in the dark. 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. When I give the signal, push the dyke with all your might.” He stationed another powerful Moro opposite Tooloowee.
“Bungao, do you hasten to the rafts and prepare to resist the first flood that will sweep through the ditch.”
When all was ready Piang raised his hand and the struggle began. Little by little the soft mud was worked away, and the current, feeling the banks weaken, seemed to lose interest in its natural bed. At first the stream only caressed its new-found outlet, but gradually it concentrated its forces, and, with a mighty rush, attacked the slight remaining resistance and went thundering off into the ditch. A smothered cry went up from the Moros:
“Piang! Piang!” How they loved their wise little charm boy!