“Yep, this is your place,” replied the man, looking away quickly from the soft brown eyes.
Obediently the jungle boy jumped out, awaiting instructions. The sailor in charge pointed to the paper in Piang’s hand and waved toward the barrio.
“For dato?” Piang asked, with a puzzled look.
“Sure, the dato,” replied the man evasively, and Piang turned and started off through the jungle, following a well defined path.
“Plucky kid, that,” said the sailor who pushed off. “Wonder if he knows what’s up? Half the time they don’t tell the poor devils. Row over toward the patrol-boat, and I’ll warn them to watch carefully to-night in case he tries to escape. When they first land here they kick up a terrible row and usually try to make a get-away or commit their particular brand of hari-kari [suicide].”
Piang was in a great hurry. There was no time to be lost and whatever the business in hand might be, it must be finished quickly. He wondered why some of the sailors had not come with him. Americans are always so curious and never lose an opportunity to visit a strange barrio. He ran on swiftly.
Two sounds broke simultaneously on his ears. What was there in them to strike a chill to his heart, to fill him with forebodings? That shrill whistle! It was surely the Sabah’s, and as Piang came to a small clearing, he caught a glimpse of the harbor. A cry broke from him. The Sabah was sailing away. Before he could fully realize the calamity, that other sound, ominous and terrible, came again from the barrio. A low rumbling, punctuated with shrieks and screams, came nearer, nearer. Suddenly from out the dense undergrowth protruded a face, shoulders, and finally a woman, old and bent, crept through. Spell-bound, Piang watched her. Wisps of unkempt gray hair straggled around her head; filthy rags hung from her lean, stooping shoulders; sunken eyes, sly and vicious, glared at Piang. Tremblingly the boy watched her creep toward him. There was something about the old hag that turned his blood cold. The distant rumble became individual howls, and Piang suddenly realized that he was being hunted. But why, and by whom? The innocent paper in his hand crackled. The old hag was very near, was about to touch him. With a shriek, Piang jumped back. Her hands were festered; her face and neck were covered with white splotches.
“A leper!” cried the boy and suddenly he realized that he had been trapped by that villain, Sicto. Not Sicto, but Alverez had filched the order for the confinement of a leper, had erased the name, and substituted Piang’s. He flung the damning paper from him.
As the boy darted off through the jungle, the old woman yelled. The cry brought the others, and when Piang caught sight of them, he almost lost hope. Would he be able to escape the contamination of this island? With mad shrieks, the lepers gave chase, eager to lay hands on one so lately relegated to their colony. Was he not a leper too? What right had he to scorn them, his brothers? Hotter, fiercer grew the chase. The island was so small that it afforded little refuge for the hunted boy. Sounds from all sides indicated that the chase was almost over; it was only a matter of minutes now, and never again could he leave the dread colony.
A rustle at his feet startled him, and some animal scurried off into the bush. A dark hole from which it had evidently crawled attracted Piang’s attention, and without an instant’s hesitation, he flung himself on the ground and wormed his body into the welcoming shelter. Pulling a fallen branch in front of the opening, he shrank farther back into the cave. Cave? No, he had taken refuge in a fallen tree trunk, hollowed out by the persistent ferreting of termites (ants).