Rick shook his head worriedly. If Lacson, obviously an intelligent and efficient officer, could find out no more, how could three strangers?
The command car whisked by an abacá plantation, with mile after mile of lush green bananalike abacá plants extending into the foothills.
"Look." Scotty pointed at drying racks on which Manila hemp fiber, product of the abacá, was drying. The fiber was a honey blond shade.
"It's just the color of Barby's hair," Rick exclaimed.
Major Lacson explained, "Abacá is graded by color. White is best, but that shade means it is very good. It will bring a good price." Then, as the command car topped a rise, the major pointed ahead. "There is Calinan."
The town was a small one, with stores and houses on both sides of a single main street. The place had a sleepy air.
At the edge of town Lacson drew up in front of a house that flew the flag of the republic. A sergeant ran out, came stiffly to attention, and saluted. After a brief command from the major, the sergeant ran to climb into the second car.
"Juan speaks a little Bagobo," Lacson explained. "He can translate for us."
The two cars moved through the town, past a group of colorfully arrayed people with flat turbans. "There are some Bagobos now," Lacson said. "They come to town to shop."
Rick looked with interest. In the few seconds before the car sped out of sight he saw that the primitives were light of skin, had pierced ears from which dangled loops, and that the men wore trousers formed of a single piece of cloth put on like a skirt, then pulled between the legs and fastened to an ornate belt. Their clothes were brightly colored.