A noise of feet and guarded voices came to their ears as the room slowly filled with men. As the light from the many candles shone upon their faces the anxious watchers saw that each man was masked.
After an interminable interval of time all was hushed and a man arose from a seat near the symbol of the society and beckoned one of the others to approach.
Phil felt the girl beside him tremble violently, and give a sharp gasp of pain.
“Garcia,” she breathed, “my father’s trusted friend.”
“Our unknown brother,” the leader said in Spanish, which Phil was to learn was the accepted language of the society, “has been summoned to join our society; his name is recorded secretly in the recording book; his number is one thousand and ten.” The leader then drew from his scabbard a sharp glistening bolo and circled it with the adroitness of a juggler about the head of the newly enrolled member. Gradually one after another of the masked natives arose, their keen-bladed bolos held aloft, while in single file they moved slowly with a rhythmical dancing step toward the silent “one thousand and ten.” As they advanced a weird chant broke from twoscore throats. It was not loud, but the volume filled the high vaulted chamber and lent an uncanny air to the mysterious initiation. It seemed to Phil as he watched, his eyes fairly bulging from their sockets, that the unfortunate man would surely be severed into a thousand pieces by these fierce, savage fanatics, but he stood silent, his arms folded across his breast, while his eyes gleamed in exultant excitement.
Slowly the members danced by their new comrade and returned to their seats.
Then the new member, by sign from the leader, advanced and prostrated himself before the emblem.
“The sign of giving his life to the cause,” Maria whispered. Then she stiffened and a stifled sob broke from between her clenched lips as the voice of the speaker filled the room.
“Rodriguez has refused the summons. He is no longer our friend. He has gone over to the despised Americans. Through him our men were attacked and killed at Banate, and also at Binalbagan. He holds his servants from joining our cause only through fear. Once he is removed they will all join us.”
“It is all untrue!” Maria’s voice, clear, low, and distinct, sounded through the room, and at once the assemblage was on its feet, gazing distrustfully at each other. Phil’s hand had grasped the girl’s arm with a grip of steel, fearing that in her indignation and anger she would expose herself to the view of these twoscore traitors.