“Piang needs no directions, no advice. No jungle is too thick for him to penetrate, no water deep enough to hide its secrets from him. Piang will bring you news of the rice. I have spoken.”
“And to think of the fuss it takes to get a few dough-boys ready for a hike!” exclaimed the amazed lieutenant.
The jungle was terrible. Everywhere Piang came across victims of the drought. Little monkeys, huddled together, cried like babies; big birds, perched on the sun-scorched trees, were motionless. He stumbled over something soft. Always on the alert, his bolo was ready in an instant, but there was no need for it. He looked down into the dying eyes of a little musk-deer. Pity and misgiving filled his heart, and he wondered if he would be able to reach the Big Pass before he starved. Surely, up there it would be different; they always had rain, and if he could only hold out.... A snuff-like dust constantly rose from the decayed vegetation; it pained his nostrils, and he muffled his face in his head-cloth as he penetrated deeper into the jungle. He must reach a clearing before night; it would mean almost certain death to sleep in the jungle’s poisonous atmosphere. There was a good spot further up, and he worked his way toward it, determined to reach it for his first night. The liana-vine that he cut for water was dry. He listened for the trickle of a brook. The jungle is usually full of little streams, but no sound rewarded his vigilance. Stumbling along, he began to think his journey would end there, when he was startled by loud chattering. A monkey settlement was evidently near, and he knew by their liveliness that they were not famishing for water. Spurred on by hope, he redoubled his efforts and was rewarded by the sight of a cocoanut grove in a clearing.
There was a general protest from the inhabitants as he made his appearance, but he paid no attention to the monkey insults hurled at him and gratefully picked up the cocoanuts with which they bombarded him. Shaking each one, he tossed it from him. They were all dry. The monkeys were too clever to waste any nuts that had milk in them. Piang tied his feet together loosely with his head-cloth, and, using it as a brace, hopped up one of the trees as easily as a monkey. Sitting in the branches, he drained one cocoanut after another, and when his thirst was slaked, he amused himself by returning the bombardment. He was surrounded by monkey snipers and he laughingly rubbed his head where one of their shots had struck home. With careful aim he showered the trees, and gradually the monkeys began to disperse. He had won; the fun was over. He watched them scold and fuss as they retreated into the jungle, regretting that he had not kept them with him a little longer for company.
The big sun was dipping into the trees now, and he descended to gather material for his bed. High up in the cocoanut-tree Piang built his couch. He selected two trees that were close together, and, cutting strips of ratan, bound stalks of bamboo together making a platform which he lashed to the trees, far out of reach of night prowlers. He dipped into his scanty provisions, and then, scrambling to his nest, covered himself with palm branches, which afford warmth as well as protection from the unhealthy dew. Quickly Piang sank into an untroubled slumber. All night long creatures fought below him for the few remaining drops of moisture in the discarded shells, but he knew that he was safe, and their snarls and bickerings did not alarm him.
Piang started guiltily. He must have overslept. The sun was high, but for some reason the heat had not awakened him. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, sniffed the air, and uttered a shout of joy. A gentle rain was trickling through the foliage; the spell was broken; the jungle would live again. After hastily gathering a few nuts he climbed down the tree and prepared for his journey, thankful that the drought was to be broken by the gentle “liquid sunshine,” as it is called, instead of by a violent typhoon. Eating what he wanted of the soft, green cocoanut meat, he tied two nuts to the ends of a ratan strip, and, slinging them across his shoulder, was off again, darting here and there to avoid the stinging vines and treacherous pitfalls.
Over and over they rolled, splashing and fighting