The Adventures of Piang the Moro Jungle Boy / A Book for Young and Old

by Florence Partello Stuart

Which stream had he paddled up before, when he had found the bright sand? He examined the shore carefully as he climbed into the boat. It must be there. Yes, he remembered the orchids in that tree. Cautiously he guided the banco to the mouth of the creek, and he shuddered as he caught sight of a shiny black object slipping into the water. It was a harmless snake, but Piang did not like snakes and he hurried past the spot. Gradually he lost sight of the lake and the sun; overhanging vegetation and fallen trees engulfed him. At times he could not use his paddle, and cautiously avoiding the thorns and poisoned things, he pulled the boat along from above. Soon this little stream would take him into the big river where he had found the pretty sand.

Piang was startled by a sound behind him. Surely he had heard a paddle. But all was silence when he paused to listen. When he came to the river he shouted with delight, for his journey was half over, and there in the sun sparkled his treasure. Taking his gourd from the boat, he filled it with sand and then started the long process of washing it away. Always in the bottom would be left a few of the bright grains. These he poured on a leaf, but he discovered in dismay that they stuck there, and when he tried to brush them off, they sank into the leaf.

While he was pondering on his predicament he heard the chatter of a hablar-bird, and he chuckled to himself. He searched his banco for his bow and arrows, but was astonished to find only the bow. What a misfortune! He must have lost the arrows on the trail. Nothing daunted, little Piang set about his task in another manner. Scattering a handful of parched corn in a clearing, he laid the noose of his rope around it, and taking the end of it in his hand, silently withdrew into the thicket and waited.

Soon the big bird discovered the handy meal and, loudly proclaiming its rights to possession, flapped its way to the earth and lighted right in Piang’s noose. The hablar-bird fluttered and chattered as it settled to the task of filling its craw with the good food. Cautiously Piang watched his chance and, with a deft twitch of the rope, secured the noose around the bird’s foot. Such screaming and flapping! “Now you be good bird, and I no hurt you,” Piang admonished. Catching hold of the creature behind the head, Piang held it firmly and quickly plucked three large feathers from its brilliant plumage. He then set it free and laughed to see it searching for its lost glories.

Piang would have enjoyed watching it, as it scolded him from a high limb, but he could not delay and he set about his task quickly. Cutting off the end of each quill, he scraped it clean inside and washed the pithy part out. He had seen his father prepare a quill in this way for packing tobacco-powder.

When these receptacles were ready to receive the gold-dust, he began washing the sand again; and when he had secured enough to fill all three quills he stuck a piece of green banana on the ends for a stopper. Now he would have the treasures for his mother—that beautiful cloth and the funny, thin thing that played pranks on you when you looked into it.

What was that sound? Surely some one was spying on him. In a flash he remembered the banco on the lake, the other sounds he had heard. Also he remembered that Sicto wanted the same treasures that he coveted. He had been followed by the bully, and now, without his bow and arrows, he was helpless. To gain the lake again, he must pass through that treacherous creek, and he knew that Sicto would think nothing of robbing him and hastening to the village to buy the treasures with Piang’s hard-earned bright sand. Somewhere those wicked eyes were watching him from the foliage, but Piang bravely covered his misgivings.

There were two trails to the village; one lay to the west through the lake that he had crossed; the other was straight ahead, down the river. But there were cataracts on this river, and Piang wondered if he could make his way on foot from the head of the first one to the right trail. He decided to take the risk and quickly headed his banco in that direction. As he started down the river, he heard a howl of rage, and glancing back, saw Sicto preparing to follow.

So! It was to be a race! Piang had foiled the bully, and his little heart beat faster as he realized the consequences if Sicto should catch him. Piang had a good start, but the river was so treacherous, the eddies so powerful, that sometimes his boat seemed to stand still or almost turn around when it was caught by the counter-current. How he loved his slim little craft! Whenever possible, it obeyed his wish, and he chuckled to see Sicto struggling with his heavy boat. If he could only reach the first head-water and land on the opposite shore, he would not fear defeat. For who was more fleet-footed than Piang, who more able to ferret his way through the almost impenetrable jungle?

Cautiously he watched the shore; he had been this way only once before, and wondered if he could remember where the trail began at the water’s edge. The current was so swift here that it was hardly necessary to paddle at all; so he rested to examine the shore.