Impatiently the Moros waited for night; fearfully they watched the mango-tree. There was no tom-tom serenade such as usually heralds the coming of night; no fires were lighted; the evening meal was forgotten. An ominous silence pervaded the barrio.
Night came—soft, fragrant night, with its thousand wonders. The inquisitive moon peeped over the palm fronds, peeped again, and decided to remain. Papita, her anklets and bangles clinking dully, moved listlessly about, sorrowing for her lost pet; Sicto followed her persistently, annoying her with his attentions. The sulky mestizo took pleasure in provoking the little girl, for was she not Piang’s favorite, and was not Piang his enemy? He moodily contemplated the charm boy at work on the silly-looking structure that he was not allowed to approach.
Gracefully the little slave-girl eluded Piang and Sicto
When it was finished, Kali Pandapatan ordered every one to go to their homes, to lock and bar the doors, and, under pain of his displeasure, to make no sound. The death-like stillness was fraught with tension. From the window in the nearest house, Piang kept watch with Kali, Asin, and Tooloowee; in his hand he held the ratan cable that controlled the nooses in the narrow lane. Minutes, hours trailed by, and still the barrio watched. A gentle wind awakened the forest whispers and gathered its freight of seed and pollen to scatter abroad. The prisoner in the deserted campong protested and struggled, its ugly grunts disturbing the jungle peace. Dull clouds obscured the moon, and for a long time the barrio was in darkness. When the light burst suddenly upon them, the Moros started from their drowsiness and gazed with awe on the swaying, shuddering mango-tree. Not a leaf was stirring on the surrounding trees, but the mango rustled and trembled ominously.
“See, Kali! I was right!” whispered Piang. No superstitious horror pervaded the hut where the four men watched, but in every other house Moros fell upon their faces, beseeching Allah to protect them from Bal-Bal. The capricious moon plunged into a shadowy cloud again. The next flood of light disclosed a vision so horrible that even Kali and his brave followers stiffened with fear. Out of the mango-tree a black, writhing mass crept toward the terrified squealing boar. Unfolding length after length, the thing advanced, until nearly thirty feet of sinuous, undulating life stretched between the mango tree and the boar’s cage. Papita, sickened with fear, buried her face in her mother’s bosom, weeping hysterically; Sicto, pale and trembling, grasped the window for support.
“Ular-Sawa!” (“Giant python!”) he gasped, hastily closing the window. A little captive monkey whined pitifully.
The massive creature, distracted by the sound, paused, head up, forked tongue darting in and out of the open jaws, for the Regal Python has no ears, but hears with its tongue. That delicate nerve center registers sounds by vibration, and when a python is eager to listen, it extends its black, forked tongue.
“Oh, will it go into the trap?” breathed Piang. The boar, watching its fate, squealed, and the python advanced. Missing the easy lane, it approached the cage from the side, and tried to batter it down with its powerful head. Failing in this, it attempted to slip over the fence, but the pickets had been sharpened to prevent this, and finally it discovered the opening.
Seeming to disapprove of the symmetrical structure, it hesitated to thrust its enormous length into the strange-looking thing. The Moros were fearful lest the creature escape and continue to overshadow their barrio. Once the python seemed about to retreat, but at that moment the boar struggled so desperately that the python’s natural instinct prevailed, and without a moment’s hesitation, it writhed into the lane, past the first loop, past the second, until it reached the cage.