A “tulisane” is to the Philippine Islands what a brigand is toItaly， a bandit to Spain， a highwayman to England， and a trainrobberto America； a man who lives by his wits， and stops atno means to gain his object. The “banca，” by the way， wasstolen property.
This man would have stabbed the American soldier when hestooped to step cautiously into the slippery boat， and taken thepurse from his dead body， had he not been far-sighted enoughto see that the purse might be had， and much more moneybeside.
The “tulisane” knew that the American soldiers were at Pasi.
Although he did not find it best to come to town himself， ingeneral， he never had any trouble finding men to go there forhim， and bring him news， or carry messages. No bandit leaderwho promptly carves an ear off the man who does his errandsgrudgingly is half so feared as a Filipino “tulisane” whom hisfellows know to be the possessor of a powerful “anting-anting.”
And this man’s “anting-anting” was famous for the wonderswhich it had done.
The “tulisane” knew that the American soldiers were at Pasi；and that the man who led them lived in one of the white tentsthey had set up there. This man in the brown clothes， whichlooked so tight that it made the Filipino tired just to lookat them， could be no common soldier， else he would not bepaying three big silver dollars for a “banca.” If anything wasto happen to this man—that is if he was to disappear， and stillnot be dead， and the officer in the white tent should know ofit—the leader of the white soldiers would no doubt pay muchmoney to have his man brought safely back. Consequently theman in the brown clothes， with the fat money purse， should bemade to disappear.
That was the way the “tulisane” reasoned. It was the threedollars， the rest of the money in the purse， and the ransomwhich the leader of the white men would pay， which influencedthe Filipino. It was not that the Asiatic highwayman cared aleaf of a forest tree for patriotism. So long as he got the money，white men and brown men were all alike to him， Americansoldiers and Filipino insurgents.
So the native， going into the forest， a little way back fromthe river， looked until he found a tree the roots of whichgrowing out from well up the trunk had made a sort of greatwooden drum. Taking a stout stick of hard wood which hadbeen leaned against the tree，—he had been there before，—hestruck the hollow tree three heavy blows， the sound of whichwent echoing off through the forest. Then the man listened.
Not long； for from far， very far away， there came an answer，one blow， and then， after a moment’s pause， two more. Thedrum beats which followed， and the pauses for the faintreplies， were like listening to a giant’s telegraph.
The soldier， paddling steadily out around the river’s windingcourse， heard the noise and wondered curiously what it was.
The natives who heard it said， “The trees are talking，” meaningthat some one was making them talk. To the “tulisane” thesounds meant that he was bringing his partner to help him， justas at night the far-off， long-drawn cry of a panther calls thecreature’s mate to share the prey.
Sergeant Johnson， still paddling， after he would have saidthat with the help of the current he had put four good miles ofthe river behind him， saw a tiny ripple in the water ahead ofthe boat， but in a stream so rapid thought nothing of it.
An instant later a cocoanut fibre rope， stretched taut acrossthe river and just below the surface of the water， had turned hisskittish boat bottom upward. The “tulisane，” you see， had seenthe sergeant’s revolver， and thought wisest to attack him wet.
Drenched， blowing for breath， before he knew what hadhappened， the soldier found himself dragged to the bank，disarmed， robbed， his hands bound behind him， and his feethobbled. He could speak Spanish and so could the “tulisanes.”
Words told him that his captors， only two in number， meanthim to march， hobbled as he was， along a path which theypointed out； but it took several sharp pricks from a “campilan”
which one of them carried， to make him start. For the pathled away from the river， away from Pasi， from Ilo Ilo and theUtica， which he would have given his life itself rather than failto reach in time.
Only a little way back from the river the path began toleave the low land， mounting up to the hills among which the“tulisanes” had their camp. Sometimes one of the brigandsled the way， with the prisoner between them， sometimesboth drove him before them， secure in the knowledge thatin his helpless condition he could not escape. The captain’smessage， in its rubber case， still lay undisturbed and dry withinthe messenger’s jacket. For that he was glad， although hisheart sank as every step carried him farther away from thedestination of the dispatch， and from the chance of its beingdelivered in season.
The means which providence uses to accomplish the endswhich it desires are marvellous， and those of us who do notbelieve in providence say， “a strange coincidence.”
The day before， back among the mountains of Panay， alittle old Montese woman， who had never heard of God， or ofAmerica， and whose only dress had been thirty yards of finebamboo plaiting coiled round and round her body， had died.
When the dead body had been set properly upright beneaththe tiny hut which had been the woman’s home， and food anddrink placed beside it for the long journey which the spirit wasto take， the hut was abandoned， as is the custom of the tribe，and the men of the family， the woman’s sons and nephews，started out with freshly sharpened lances and “mechetes.”
For this is the only religion of the Monteses； that no onemust be left to go alone upon the long journey. And so， whenone of a family dies， the men relatives do not stay their handsuntil some one，—the first person met，—is slain by them togo on the journey as an escort. Only if they seek three daysthrough the wood， and find no human being， then， after thethird day， a beast may be slain， and the law of blood still besatisfied.