"Ten thousand dollars."
"Whew! That would be a good deal of money to pay out."
"For the sake of peace, and a chance to carry on my plantation business, Lieutenant, I might have paid it—if once would have been enough. But it wouldn't have been. If I had acceded to his demand the datto would have let me alone for this year. He would have sent the same demand next year, however. In fact, the datto would have put me down on his list as being good for ten thousand dollars a year tribute. The first year that I failed to pay this tribute my plantation would be destroyed, and myself, my family and friends put to the knife. So it's either fight or get out of here for good. It seems a strange thing, doesn't it, Lieutenant, to live under the Stars and Stripes, and yet to have to pay tribute to a savage for the right to do business?"
"It isn't right, it can't be, sir—and by the great howitzer, Uncle Sam will put a stop to all this business!" replied Lieutenant Prescott hotly.
"I hope so," returned Mr. Seaforth. "The Datto Hakkut, however, has been doing business here on Mindanao since before the Spaniards left, and my opinion is that he will do business as long as he lives. This fellow Hakkut is a wily old scoundrel, who often falls into traps set for him by our soldiers. Yet, just when the soldiers are about to close the trap, they find that Hakkut isn't there. His escapes are marvelous."
"Did Hakkut himself come to see you, Mr. Seaforth?" inquired the young lieutenant.
"Hakkut? I've never seen the fellow, nor has any other white man around here, so far as I know."
"Then he sends a regular collector for the money?"
"Yes. He has a new collector this year."
"A Moro?"