Goodwin Harold Leland
The Golden Skull: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

CHAPTER VI
Chahda Checks In

Rick had expected the flight to Baguio to be a snap, but as it turned out, he had to call for help. Angel Manotok carried the three Spindrifters to the airport in the truck, Rick and Scotty riding behind, then Angel departed for Baguio with Nast and his bundle of silks.

Rick checked in at the Philippine Aeronautics Commission, seeking information on the airport at Baguio. He took one look at the approach pattern and gulped. The approach was between high mountains, down a valley, and then up a mountainside. What made it worse was that one mountain looked much like another on the topographical map.

He exclaimed, "Boy! That's a rugged landing field to find!"

The Filipino official smiled. "You have maybe Navy flying experience?"

"No. Why?"

"Best experience for landing at Baguio is making landings on aircraft carrier."

"Thanks," Rick said. "Any advice?"

"Yes. Go to Philippine Air Lines. Talk to flight dispatcher. PAL flight leaves here maybe two hours. Just right for you. Fly to rendezvous. Pretty soon along comes PAL flight and you follow in."

The advice was good, Rick realized. He could not do better than follow a regular air-line flight into the field. He did as directed, met the pilot of the next Baguio flight, a former Filipino pilot in the United States Air Force, and was told the approximate time the PAL flight would pass the Kennon Road horseshoe curve for the Baguio approach.

"Follow the Kennon Road," the pilot advised. "Pick me up when I go over the curve. You can't mistake the place. Nothing else like it."

While Rick made arrangements, Tony and Scotty loaded their personal suitcases into the luggage compartment with the earth scanner. Scotty started the engine and checked the plane, so that it was warm when Rick arrived. They took off at once and headed north across the great central plain of Luzon.

The landscape below was flat, cut up by creeks and estuaries. It was perfect rice country. Later they passed Mount Arayat, once the hide-out of the Hukbalahap – the lawless forces that had been such a threat to Philippine stability. Ahead of them rose the mountains of northern Luzon. Within those mountains they would find Baguio and Mountain Province.

Rick picked up the Kennon Road without trouble as it wound its way through the foothills. Staying high, he followed it until he reached a great switchback curve. A car following that road would literally double back on itself, he thought. He glanced at his watch. The PAL plane would be along in about two minutes. The pilot had estimated Rick's flying time perfectly. Rick climbed, then circled until Scotty saw the twin-engine transport approaching.

The PAL pilot waggled his wings, and Rick followed as the air liner throttled down, swung between mountain peaks, and threaded its way down a wide valley. Rick gulped. A good thing he had had the experienced pilot to follow. He would never have found the way alone. The peaks were completely confusing to someone who had never seen them before.

The air liner turned suddenly and Rick's heart leaped into his throat. He thought the PAL plane was flying right into the mountainside. But such was not the case. The plane settled down on a landing strip that had been hewn from a mountaintop. It was obvious what the PAL official had meant when he joked about carrier landings.

Rick followed the PAL plane in, and had to fight down his instinctive feeling to gain altitude when he saw the mountainside rushing at him. He nearly over-shot the landing strip. But then the Sky Wagon was down, and he taxied toward the control station.

Scotty wiped his brow. "Some field!"

"Next time will be okay," Rick replied. "But this time I aged ten years."

The Filipino pilot walked to meet them, grinning. "How do you like Baguio airport?"

"I've landed on fields I liked better," Rick replied. "Thanks for leading us in."

"You're welcome. I remember my first landing. Couldn't fly again for a week. All I could think of was spreading my passengers all over the hillside. But only the first time is hard. We fly in and out of here several times a day, and we've never had a serious accident."

"Your air line doesn't go in for accidents," Tony Briotti said. "You have a remarkable safety record."

"We do our best," the pilot said. "Going into town? I am. I have a car behind the control shack. Be glad to give you a lift."

"Thanks a million," Rick answered. "First I have to make arrangements for my plane."

The pilot grinned. "None to make. No hangars, no service except gas. Just stake it down and lock the door. It will be all right."

It had to be all right. There was nothing else to do. The Spindrifters took the earth scanner and their personal luggage, then locked the plane, leaving the alarm activated. As an afterthought, Rick left a duplicate key with the Filipino field official. Someone might touch it casually and set the alarm off, and it would sound until the door was unlocked and relocked again with the key. He explained how it worked and then joined the pilot and his friends in the official air-line car.

The pilot dropped them at Muller's, a combination boardinghouse and old-fashioned inn. They checked in, then climbed a nearby hill for a view of Baguio.

As far as the eye could see, there were mountains. Steep ridges and deep clefts made a picturesque jumble of the landscape. Beyond, over the ridge, was the Trinidad Valley, a farm garden area where the American colony of the Philippines got most of its temperate zone vegetables and fruit. On the other side of town was the Golden Bowl of Benguet, where fabulous gold mines were worked by Igorot miners clad only in breechcloths and hard-rock helmets.

Baguio itself was a modern city in most respects. But the population – a strange mixture of Christian Filipinos and primitive, pagan Igorots – was unusual. The Filipinos wore typical Western dress, and actually dressed pretty warmly. The Igorot men wore the breechcloth, perhaps with a shirt or sweater, perhaps with nothing at all. Most of the men had tiny pillbox caps of woven straw on the backs of their heads. The little round boxes were decorated with such oddments as boar's tusks and coke bottle caps. The Igorot women wore a tight-fitting skirt of colorful wool, usually patterned in red or yellow. They wore blouses of embroidered white cotton, or jackets of colored wool. Their skirts had balls of yarn on the hips. The women wore no hats. Both sexes were usually barefoot.

There were contrasts. For example, next to a great Christian cathedral was the Igorot dog market. The Igorots were eaters of dog meat.

But it was not the Igorots or the mountains that had made Baguio famous and turned it into the summer capital of the Philippines – it was the climate. While Manila burned in the tropical sun, Baguio, thousands of feet higher, had cool, fall-like weather. There was hardly a night during the year when blankets were not comfortable. Even the foliage was temperate rather than tropical. Baguio had pine trees, a welcome sight to the Spindrift trio.

There was a tall, fragrant pine just outside the window of the room shared by Rick and Scotty. When the boys returned to their rooms to wash up for an early dinner, Rick leaned out and broke off a pine cone. Then, by reaching only a bit further, he grabbed a cluster of purple-red blossoms from a bougainvillea vine that had climbed the tree to their second-floor height.

In the comfortable dining room, they chose a table in front of a roaring fireplace, glad of the warmth. It was chilly in Baguio. While they waited to be served, Rick mentioned the pine tree to Tony and commented that it was odd that a tree should be left so close to a building.

"The forest practices of the Igorots and Ifugaos could well be copied by us," Tony told the boys. "Anyone who cuts down a tree for anything other than genuine use is severely punished. In the old days the punishment might have been loss of his head. That's how much respect they have for their water supply, which is dependent directly on their forests."

"You talk as though these were civilized people," Scotty commented.

Tony grinned. "Depends on what you call civilization. But they have a very highly developed and complex culture. They have a history, too, which they know better than we know ours. For instance, an Ifugao can recite his ancestry as far back as twenty-five generations. Can you?"

"Not sure I'd want to," Scotty retorted. "Might be a few horse thieves along the way. Seriously, I see what you mean."

"Their priests must know all about fifteen hundred different gods and all the legends and taboos connected with each. No written books to consult, either. All must be memorized."

"That certainly proves that they have good memories," Rick said. "I'm not sure what else it proves."

"Wait until you see the rice terraces. Now let's order dinner. This cool air has whetted my appetite like a razor's edge."

After a delicious meal of broiled steak, fresh vegetables from Trinidad Valley, and the huge strawberries for which the valley is famous, the three lingered over coffee and Tony recited more details of the Igorot and Ifugao way of life, so different from their own. In the midst of the recital Angel Manotok arrived.

"Good trip?" Rick asked.

"Yes. No trouble. The truck is a beauty. What do you want me to do now?"

Rick handed him the keys to their room. "You're pretty dusty. Wash up, eat, then go to the airport. You'll find a spare bedroll in the crate you carried by yourself back at the Manila Hotel. Keep an eye on the plane, and we'll join you at breakfast time."

Although there was no reason to suspect that anyone would harm the plane, none of them felt comfortable about leaving it unguarded. They were sure it would be safe during the daylight hours, but darkness afforded an opportunity for sabotage.

Angel took the keys and went on his way. In a short time he returned, gave the keys back to Rick, and said, "I'll get supper at a Filipino place. See you in the morning."

"Businesslike," Tony said approvingly. "No waste words or motion. I think we were lucky to get him."

The boys agreed. "Wonder how he and Nast got along?" Rick queried. "I forgot to ask him."

"He probably dropped off Nast and his silks before he came here," Scotty commented.

At Tony's suggestion they walked around town, taking in the interesting marketplace, the several cathedrals, the summer palace of the Philippines president, and the parks. Baguio was different – and very peaceful and pleasant. As they walked, they discussed their plans for the next day.

Rick and Tony were to fly to Bontoc, which was still in Igorot country, then cross the mountain to Banaue, which was the objective of the trip, land of the Ifugaos and home of the fabled rice terraces. It was to be a non-stop trip, mostly to familiarize Rick with the terrain. At the same time, Scotty and Angel were to go by truck to Bontoc, several hours' drive to the north. They would remain overnight. If Scotty could arrange a landing place for the Sky Wagon, he would phone Rick at Muller's. Then Rick and Tony would fly up the next morning. Scotty was a pilot himself, so he knew the requirements for a good landing strip.

If no suitable landing place were available, Rick and Tony would hire a jeep and drive to Bontoc. Jeeps were common in the Philippines, since they were ideal vehicles for the back country. Hiring one would present no problems.

With no landing place available, the Sky Wagon would not come into use until the expedition found artifacts of value. Then Rick would return to Baguio, get the plane, pick up the discoveries by cable, and deliver the stuff to Okola in Manila for safekeeping and preliminary examination.

The exercise and the cool freshness of the air made them sleepy, and presently, by mutual consent, they returned to Muller's.

"Might as well get to bed early," Tony said. "Then we can be up at dawn and get off to an early start. Good night, boys."

The boys bade him good night and went to their own room, a few doors down the hall. Scotty unlocked the door and swung it open, then let out a yell of joy. Chahda was sprawled on one of the beds, reading a magazine!

The Hindu boy was dressed in Western clothes, slacks and a sports jacket.

He looked up as the door opened. "Hi," he said casually. "Nice walk?"

It was as though they had left him reading while they went for a stroll. Chahda's casualness was too much for Rick and Scotty. They dove for him, hauled him out of the bed, and pummeled him with sheer delight. Finally Chahda yelled for mercy.

"I give in! Plenty okay! I glad to see you, too. Please do not break leg, may need it."

"You no-good swami," Scotty said. "What's the idea of playing Sikh?"

The boys sat down on the bed opposite Chahda.

"Talk," Rick commanded. "What kind of gag is this?"

"Best way to learn about people is to be one of them," Chahda said with dignity. "I have been Filipino and Sikh. Now I become Igorot. First I learned about this new country from Alm-in-ack. Says this largest group in Malay Archipelago. What is archipelago, please?"

Rick saw the twinkle in Chahda's eye and knew that their friend was following his usual custom of teasing them. "Archy Pelago is the black sheep of the Pelago family," he said. "Archy first fell from grace when he got into a fight with neighbors. It was a real melee. Hence his nickname. Melee Archy Pelago…"

A pillow caught him in the face, smothering his words. Scotty pushed him over on the bed and sat on him.

"Come on, Chahda. I'm so curious I could spring a seam. What's going on?"

Rick squirmed, got nowhere, and finally sank his teeth into Scotty hard enough to get results. Scotty let out a yell that could have been heard in Singapore.

Tony Briotti pounded on the door and called, "How do you expect the paying guests to sleep with that racket going on?"

The boys let him in and introduced Chahda. Tony shook hands with the Hindu boy. "I was beginning to believe you were a figment of the well-known Spindrift imagination. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise am honored to meet brilliant young scientist," Chahda said politely. "My worthless friends tell me they even call you by nickname, while other scientists are called by title. This is mark of high esteem, I think. Glad to meet you, Sahib Tony."

"Chahda was just going to give us the low-down," Rick said.

"That what the yelling was about?" Tony asked.

"Scotty yelled," Rick said. "Mosquito bit him."

"That mosquito is going to get swatted when he least expects it," Scotty promised. "Come on, Chahda. Spin us a yarn."

"Okay." Chahda sat cross-legged on Rick's bed. "You know I went to Manila Hotel. For three days I waited. Then one day I sit next to famous Assistant Secretary of Exterior."

"Interior," Rick corrected. "Lazada."

"Yes. Soon he is met by a friend who sits with him. This friend is not known to me then. But I listen. I hear Lazada's friend say that soon come Americans who will desec – What is ruin religious things, please?"

"Desecrate," Tony supplied.

"Yes. Do that to sacred Ifugao things. This friend begs Lazada not to give permit."

The three Spindrifters were sitting on the edges of the beds now, concentrating on every word.

"Friend says Americans will dig up rice terraces, looking for gold. Sacred objects of gold will be carried away, and earth-cokes and drafts will fall on Ifugao people."

"Earthquakes and droughts," Rick corrected.

"That is what I said," Chahda nodded. "Lazada objects that these are not real gold things, and the friend says they are. Real gold. Much gold. All very sacred. Again he begs Lazada not to allow this sacker-ledge."

"Sacrilege."

"Yes. Anyway, Lazada says Americans have much influence. He does not know if he can stop them. But he will try. I do not believe he talks truth. His looks do not make me trust him. You know?"

The boys knew.

"When friend leaves, I think I follow him. He starts out, then he meets American on steps of hotel. I get close and listen. He says to American, how you like to add gold to your smuggle into China?"

Rick whistled. He had heard that smuggling gold from the Philippines into China was big business.

"American says plenty like. Where is gold? Lazada says we not talk here, you come to my house tonight – no, tomorrow. Got big official dinner tonight, and there is plenty time. Then I decide I must know more. So I go to Number One Sikh in Manila and tell him he has new strong boy to be guard at Lazada's, after I make sure Lazada has Sikh guards. This is arranged. No trouble."

Chahda always made it sound dramatic but easy, Rick thought. He doubted that it was as simple as the Hindu boy made out.

"American comes, and I am not able to hear much of talk. But I get American's name. You know him. Since this morning."

"Nast!" Rick exclaimed.

"Yes. Also comes to Lazada's house the Filipino friend, but he is not Filipino. He is Ifugao. About him I do not know, except that he is called No Palate. Or something like that. I would like to follow him, but I think better I stay with Lazada. Good thing, too, because Nast comes again, and this time I listen. Lazada tells Nast first to meet you, so you will know and trust him. Then Nast is to get in touch with No Palate. Lazada says he has told No Palate that he cannot keep permit from you, but that American friend will help keep you from digging up Ifugao sacred things."

Chahda shrugged. "What am I to do? I stop being Sikh. My Number One Sikh buddy-chum helps me meet Igorot who used to be scout for constabulary. Name of Dog Meat. Fine name, huh? Dog Meat will help. I hire him. Need helper named Dog Meat for sure." He grinned.

The boys chuckled, and Tony explained, "That is actually a very honorable name. Dog meat is a ceremonial meat among the Igorots."

"Best reason I've heard for hiring anyone in a long time," Rick commented.

Chahda continued, "This morning I try to catch you at Manila, but reach hotel too late, then reach airport too late. But I do some watching, and I find out man with same describing as Nast has been visiting with you at airport. You already gone. Nast already gone. Dog Meat and me, we take next PAL plane to Baguio. When get here, there is your Sky Wagon. At least I think it is yours, because it is like you told me in your letter. So I come here, but not come directly to room, because I think maybe better I stay undercover. So climb tree and come in window."

The Hindu boy made a gesture of "all done." "Next time you see me, I be Ifugao. Or maybe Igorot. Maybe even Kalinga." He named another related pagan group. "Will decide when I see what is to be did. But already have name." He smiled blandly. "Name myself for Scotty."

Rick moved out of the line of fire.

Chahda bowed. "Meet Cow Brain."

Scotty reached for him. Tony and Rick ducked.

CHAPTER VII
Igorot Country

Rick and Scotty awoke the next morning with a feeling of well-being. After the heat of Manila the cool air of Baguio had caused them to sleep like logs. Also, things appeared to be going well, and Chahda finally had contacted them.

The contact had been a brief one. Chahda had gone, promising to keep in touch with them as best he could. The Hindu boy was on the trail of James Nast, hoping that by keeping close watch he could anticipate, and perhaps prevent, any action Nast might try to take against the Spindrift party.

"Dog Meat," Rick said, grinning, as the two knocked on Tony Briotti's door. "It may be a fine old ceremonial name in this part of the world, but to me it's just a meal for Dismal."

Dismal was the Brant family pup. When Rick thought of the pagans eating dog, he always thought of Dismal served up as a roast, and the thought made him ill. He had decided that he might admire the fine qualities of the Igorot and Ifugao people, but the mental image of Dismal among the poor, beaten mongrels in the dog market would always keep him from being really fond of them.

Tony failed to answer the door. "Probably gone down to breakfast already," Scotty said. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Chahda won't have much trouble finding Nast. Baguio isn't very big and there aren't very many Americans. Wonder what Nast will try to do?"

Rick shrugged. "How can we guess? There are so many things about this part of the world we don't know. He might have two dozen slick tricks up his sleeve. The best thing we can do is be on guard all the time. I'm glad we sent Angel out to guard the plane."

As they passed the hotel desk, the clerk hailed them. "Mr. Brant? A message for you."

"Probably from Chahda," Rick said. But he was wrong. The note was from Tony, and it made Rick's eyes widen. He read it aloud:

"'Dear boys. Woke up at dawn with something nagging at me. It broke through my thick skull while I was having coffee. The Ifugao No Palate must be Nangolat. It's the name Okola mentioned – his prize student. I know of no other Ifugao with even a less remote connection. Also, the shape of Angel's face bothers me. I am going to the airport on a hunch. Be back about eight, with Angel.'"

Scotty pointed to a wall clock. It was nearly nine o'clock. They had slept late.

The two boys, without a word, ran for the door. Outside the hotel a Filipino taxi waited. They jumped in and gasped in one voice: "Baguio Airport!"

"The chucklehead," Scotty groaned. "Why didn't he wake us up? Why did he have to go alone?"

"Relax," Rick said, but he didn't really mean it. "It was just an idea he had that this Ifugao might be tied up with Angel. After all, Okola recommended Angel." He recognized the fallacy in his argument as soon as the words were out, but Scotty was already pointing to it.

"Yes. Angel is Okola's boy, and so is this Nangolat. What's more likely than their being close friends? Angel could be giving Nangolat a helping hand."

The taxi climbed the winding streets of Baguio, passed the American military rest camp and the Baguio residence of the American ambassador, and finally entered the airport.

One quick look around the field showed them that the truck was missing. The Sky Wagon was waiting by itself. On Rick's quick instructions the taxi raced to the plane. They got out and took a quick look.

"No sign of damage," Scotty said. "Let's ask at the airport office."

The office was closed. It was operated by Philippine Air Lines, and was only kept open during the day, starting one hour before the day's first flight to Manila or from the big city. The first flight on this day was not until ten thirty.

A pair of workmen with shovels were scratching listlessly at the gravel on the opposite side of the field. The boys jumped into the taxi and told the driver to cross the field.

Rick leaned out. "Did you see a truck?"

The men smiled and nodded.

"How long ago?" Rick called.

The men smiled some more, then shrugged.

The Filipino cab driver spoke to them in Ilokano, the Christian dialect of the province. They answered briefly, smiled at the boys again, and went back to scratching at the gravel. Apparently they were supposed to be leveling the shoulders of the runway. If so, the shoulders would be stooped with age before they were finished.

The Filipino cab driver turned to the boys. "Sir, these men not see truck. They be here since maybe two hours. No truck."

"But they said they did!" Scotty exclaimed.

Rick interrupted, "Ask them if they saw an American, alone."

The driver exchanged quick syllables with the workmen. "They see American. He get in sedan which waiting for him, and go off."

"Who was in the sedan?"

Again the driver translated. "They not see. It on other side of field. Only know maybe three men, maybe American, maybe Filipino. They not know."

"Take us back to the hotel," Rick commanded. "And thanks for interpreting for us."

"They said they saw the truck," Scotty insisted.

Rick shook his head. "Remember what Tony once told us. Never ask a question that can be answered yes or no, or the answer will be yes whether that's the answer or not. That's as true in the Philippines as it is in China or anywhere else in the Orient. I don't think they saw the truck, but I'm sure they did see Tony go off in a sedan. I'm worried, Scotty."

"Same. Of course the men in the sedan could just have offered Tony a lift back to the hotel."

"What were they doing at the airport? The sign on the office door said the first flight from Manila was at ten thirty. No one uses the field but PAL, a few travelers like us, and maybe military planes."

"I don't believe he just got a lift. But it's a possibility."

"We'll soon know," Rick said. "Driver, please hurry."

The Filipino grinned. "Sor, would like to please customer. But hurry on these roads is break the necks, I think so."

"He's right," Scotty agreed. "We'll get there soon enough."

Within a few moments they were back at the hotel. Rick paid the driver and thanked him for the help, then they ran in and confronted the clerk. "Is Dr. Briotti back?"

"I haven't seen him, gentlemen. Just a moment please." The clerk looked in Tony's box. "His key is not here. Have you called his room?"

"Not yet. Would you have seen him if he came in?" Rick asked.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I've been doing some paper work, and unless he came to the desk, I might not notice him."

The boys nodded their thanks and hurried up the stairs to Tony's room. They tried the door, then knocked loudly. There was no answer. They knocked again, waited, then stared at each other bleakly.

"Now what?" Rick had a feeling that Tony was in danger. He didn't know why he felt that way when the only news they had was that he had gone off in a sedan with three men. The workmen hadn't said that he had fought, or that he had been pulled into the car. He voiced his thoughts as he followed Scotty to their room.

"That means nothing," Scotty pointed out. "He probably wouldn't argue with a gun pointing out the window at him. The workmen probably wouldn't have noticed a pistol barrel."

"You're right, as usual. Well, what now?"

"Call the cops?"

"What would we say? Tony hasn't been gone more than an hour or two, so far as we know. That's not reason enough to call the cops. We couldn't tell them about Chahda and what he said. They wouldn't believe any such stories about their Assistant Secretary of the Interior, and if they did, they'd probably be afraid to do much about it. If Tony doesn't show up in another hour or two, we probably ought to call the police. But not yet."

Scotty had worn a jacket because the morning was cool. But now the room was warm, and he went to the closet to hang it up.

"Hey, Tony must have taken the earth scanner with him."

Rick was in the act of sitting down on his bed. He bounced up like a rubber ball. "What? He couldn't have!"

"Well, it's gone. And who else would have taken it?"

"Tony didn't. He hasn't been in this room, except last night when Chahda was here, and he didn't take the scanner then."

Scotty snapped his fingers. "You gave Angel your key and told him to clean up!"

Rick slumped down on the bed again. That was it, of course. It had to be. No one else had had the chance to get the equipment, barring the possibility that the hotel personnel were dishonest, and there was no reason to suspect them.

"Then the equipment went with him last night. And we didn't notice until now. But we would have noticed if it had been gone, wouldn't we? I've been to the closet a dozen times and so have you."

"Means nothing. I don't know why I noticed just now that the stuff was gone. But there was nothing to call our attention to it last night or this morning. Anyway, it was behind my big suitcase – I know. I knocked the suitcase over when I closed the closet door this morning, and I didn't stop to pick it up. It's still on its side. That's why I noticed that the earth scanner wasn't there."

"If we needed any proof that Angel is a bad one, probably in cahoots with Nangolat, we have it. Scotty, what are we going to do?"

"Call the cops," Scotty said grimly. "Now we have a theft to report." He strode for the phone, but before he could pick it up there was a sharp ring. Scotty answered. "Yes?" He listened, hung up hastily, and turned to Rick.

"The clerk says there's a Filipino in the lobby who wants to see us. Says he knows us."

"Chahda! It must be. He's posing as a pagan of some kind, and we don't know any other Filipinos."

Rick's thoughts were expressed as he and Scotty ran down the hall, then took the stairs four at a time.

"That's not Chahda!" Scotty pointed to a big Filipino who was striding back and forth in front of the desk. The man was Scotty's size, and built in about the same proportions. Around his head was what at first glance appeared to be a kind of turban. At second glance the boys saw that it was a thick bandage.

The Filipino saw them and came toward them with quick strides. His face probably was pleasant most of the time, but now it was grim, his mouth creased in lines of pain.

"Mr. Brant and Mr. Scott?"

"Yes," Rick said. "And you…"

"I am Angel Manotok!" the Filipino said.