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

CHAPTER XV
Under the Dragon's Claws

The Spindrift group jumped into action. Rick, Tony, and Chahda carried the earth scanner into the recess and set it up. Scotty consulted with Angel, and at a word from the Filipino, Balaban the Igorot climbed the wall to the terrace above their heads where he sprawled among the rice with rifle ready.

Angel moved to the left about fifty feet, while Scotty moved the same distance to the right. Dog Meat ran down the meadow to the road, crossed the terrace, and took up a watch on the village.

"Work fast," Tony said. "They must know we're here. If they didn't see us, they at least heard the motors."

Rick was already at work. He plugged in the probe, checked the controls, then turned them over to Tony. The scientist set the controls and turned on the activation switch.

Rick moved the probe in a long sweep, starting in front of the dragon, while Tony and Chahda watched the scope.

"Standard pattern," Tony reported. "Keep it moving … no change … no change…"

Rick stepped sideways and moved the probe through a slightly different arc. "No change…"

Again Rick took a step and swung the probe. He kept moving until the probe had nearly covered the ground in front of the dragon, then he took a position next to the bronze statue and covered the ground directly under its nose.

"Wait!" There was excitement in Tony's voice. "You're on something!"

"Metal?" Rick asked quickly.

"No. It's not a metal response. Some kind of stone, but not the usual type found around here."

Tony had a pad out and was making a sketch of the recess, marking the position of the dragon. Then, while Rick moved the probe through a new arc, his pencil shaded in the area where the odd response showed on the scope.

Rick repeated the scanning process to one side of the dragon, and again the response was normal until he got close. He changed sides, and the result was the same. Then he went to the rear of the dragon, expecting a changed response there. But the results were identical. At last he gave up, feeling a bit let down, and joined Tony and Chahda. They were examining Tony's sketch.

"Plenty clear to me," Chahda said. "Right under old man dragon is round hole. See?"

Chahda was right. The changed responses, when charted on Tony's sketch, showed a circle about six feet in diameter with its center directly under the dragon.

"But no metal," Tony said. "That's odd."

Rick frowned. "It can't be an underground base for the dragon," he said. "A base would be close to the surface. This response seems to start about two feet under."

He stared out across the meadow and noted that Dog Meat was trotting toward them, but he paid no attention because his mind was working on the problem.

"It could be a crypt of some kind," he said. He went to the truck and got a shovel. "I have an idea." He went to work.

Dog Meat arrived and chattered excitedly. Angel came running, listened, and translated.

"The village is up in arms. Nangolat is making a speech and the young men are getting ready to make war."

Rick dug, working on a shaft under the dragon's pedestal. The earth was packed hard and he had to get a pick. Tony relieved him, and they took turns until the shaft slanted in to what they estimated was a point directly under the center of the pedestal.

"Now," Rick said, and took the probe. He put it into the shaft and watched expectantly while Tony adjusted the controls. Suddenly the scope flickered, breaking up the Christmas tree pattern. There were at least three different responses, two of them definitely in the metals range.

"This is it!" Tony yelled. "It has to be! Rick, that was an inspiration. The cache is right under the dragon!"

There was another yell, from outside the recess. It was Balaban, on the terrace above. "They come!"

For the moment the find was forgotten. The Spindrift party stood between the truck and jeep watching as nearly a hundred Ifugao warriors walked with menacing silence to the edge of the meadow and stopped.

Nangolat, naked except for a breechcloth, stepped from the ranks of Ifugao warriors. He held a spear a foot taller than he, a vicious weapon with a triangular point and flared base.

The Ifugao walked ceremoniously across the meadow to a point twenty yards in front of the recess. "You're trapped," he said. His voice trembled with hatred. "You can't get away from us now. Come out and throw down your weapons."

Tony stepped forward, rifle held carelessly under his arm. He stopped ten paces in front of the Ifugao.

"We and you want the same thing," he said. "The artifacts."

Nangolat thrust the metal-shod base of his spear into the earth. "We want the same thing, but for different reasons. I want to preserve the sacred objects of my people. You want to desecrate them."

"That's not true," Tony replied. "When we touch them it will be with reverence, with respect for the gods of Banaue. Then, when we have collected them all, we will buy many pigs for a great feast of thanksgiving for all the people of Ifugao. The sacred objects will be used by your priests for ceremonies. Then you, Nangolat, will go with us when we carry them to Manila. In Manila we will measure them and photograph them and make sketches. These methods are familiar to you."

Tony paused, searching Nangolat's face for some sign of a change in his attitude. "When we are done, we will ask to see the president of the Philippines. We will petition him to assist in the building of a temple-museum on this very spot. My scientific foundation will give the first donation for this purpose. Dr. Okola will help. Then, I hope, the sacred objects can come back to Ifugao to stay forever, in a place where all Ifugaos may see them."

Tony held out his hand, palm upward. "Is that desecration?"

Nangolat leaned forward, half bowing in his excitement. "The artifacts must not leave Ifugao!"

"You know Dr. Okola," Tony replied. "Would he insist that they go to Manila? I would not. I could take photographs and measurements right here. The objects need not leave here, so far as I am concerned. That would be between you and the Filipino authorities."

Nangolat was obviously impressed. "Wait," he commanded. "I must talk with the priests."

He turned on his heel and walked back to the waiting Ifugao warriors. Several men detached themselves from the group and followed as he led the way across the terrace toward the village.

Rick breathed freely for the first time. "Tony, I think he's going for it!"

"I certainly hope so," the scientist said with relief. "But regardless of how the decision goes, the artifacts must be collected. Let's get some work done."

How to get the dragon away from the underground crypt was solved with the truck winch. The cable was passed around the pedestal and the whole business hauled forward. Then Rick, Scotty, Angel, and Chahda began to dig while Tony examined each inch of progress for signs that the crypt was being reached.

A whistle came from outside. Dog Meat beckoned. The party stopped digging and hurried out in time to see a station wagon come to a halt on the road above the village. Six men got out and were met by an elderly Ifugao. But before they were ushered to the village they took time to stare at the Spindrift expedition.

The Spindrift group stared back with a combination of fear, disappointment, and disgust. Four of the men were strangers. One was an American – James Nast. The sixth was the Assistant Secretary of the Interior!

CHAPTER XVI
Flying Spears

"Just like the old saying," Rick observed. "Birds of a feather flock together. A crooked Filipino, a crooked American, and a crazy Ifugao are now in conference. And what is the conference about?"

"They talk about who wins next World Series," Chahda suggested brightly.

Scotty scoffed at the idea. "They aren't sports lovers, Chahda. They are gentlemen of culture. I think the conference is about motion pictures. My idea is that Lazada and Nast are visiting Nangolat in order to get an Ifugao opinion on whether the hero should be allowed to kiss his horse in western pictures."

Tony Briotti leaned on his shovel. "I can't see how you can be so wrong when the evidence is so clear. Isn't Lazada the Assistant Secretary of the Interior? Isn't this the Interior? I think the Ifugao terraces are about to be converted to a national park, under the Department of the Interior. The Assistant Secretary is here to discuss the hot-dog concession with a local bigwig. Of course he has his American hot-dog expert with him. It's as simple as that."

Scotty checked his rifle carefully, sighting down the barrel to make sure it was mirror clean. "They could also be talking about building a new swimming pool for Ifugao boys and girls, but somehow I doubt it. What say we not worry about what they're saying to each other, and worry instead about digging?"

"Right as usual," Tony said. "Let's keep at it, and perhaps we'll come up with something worth talking about."

They had made a good start. Now, working two by two, they excavated until the shovels rang from stone. Scraping disclosed a flat stone that probably was a lid of some kind. They resumed digging until the stone was completely exposed, then tried to lift it.

"Weighs a ton," Rick grunted. "Did it move at all?"

"Not that I could see," Tony said. "Let's dig down around the edges more and see if the stone is anchored."

Further digging showed that the stone was not anchored. It probably had been set in some kind of primitive mortar which would have to be broken before the stone could be lifted. A crowbar from the truck supplied leverage and in a moment the stone was free. Willing hands found holds, lifted it free, and slid it to the back of the recess. Where the stone had been there now yawned a circular opening about the size of a manhole.

Tony Briotti was beside himself with excitement. He ran to the truck, rummaged in the supplies, and produced a flashlight. Then he ran back to the hole and directed the beam downward.

The boys crowded around to look. Rick exclaimed in disappointment. The hole was about eight feet deep and about four feet in diameter. The walls were coated with green slime and on the bottom there was a mixed coating of mud and slime and nothing else.

"False alarm," he said sadly.

Tony paid no attention. He went to the truck again, and from his own crate of supplies he produced rope and two galvanized steel buckets. He also found boots and rubber gloves, a small hand shovel, and an ordinary garden hand tool with three prongs. These tools he thrust into his belt.

"I'm going down," he announced.

Rick realized that Tony was not taking for granted the apparent emptiness of the hole. He realized, too, that Tony knew much more about such caches than he. "Okay," he said. "Angel, keep a watch. We don't want to get caught by surprise while Tony is digging."

"I've been watching," Angel said. "And we're also being watched by Ifugaos, on the terraces above the village."

Chahda looked into the hole doubtfully. "How you get in and out, Tony? No ladder."

"The rope," Tony said. "You'll have to lower me, or hold the rope so I can climb down."

"We'll lower you," Scotty said. He took the rope and made a loop for Tony's foot, then directed the archaeologist to sit on the edge of the hole. Tony did so, putting his foot through the loop. Then Rick, Scotty, and Chahda payed out rope while the scientist let himself slide from the edge into the hole. In a moment the rope went slack. He was on the bottom.

Rick watched while Tony drove his hunting knife into the wall of the hole and hung his flashlight on it, the beam shooting downward. Then Tony took his shovel from his belt and probed the soft earth carefully. It was so soft that his boots sank in up to the ankles.

Presently Tony called, "Something here. Get a bucket." He worked with the shovel and unearthed a small, mud-covered object, then another, then a whole series of them.

Scotty tied a bucket to the rope and lowered it. Tony put the muddy collection in it and Scotty drew it up.

"Send the rope back for me," Tony called.

The three boys helped to pull him up. He immediately sat down on the ground with the bucket between his legs and started to clean his findings.

"Rick," he requested, "get me the bag of cloths and brushes from my case, please?"

Rick did so. Tony removed most of the mud by wiping it off with his gloves. Then brushes and cloths completed the job. He held up a human jawbone, inlaid with gold. His eyes sparkled. "Typical, except for the gold. The human jawbone is a common Ifugao relic. In fact, they suspend their musical instruments from human jawbones." He put it down carefully and started to work on the next object. It turned out to be a pipe, again typical Ifugao work except for the fact that it was of gold.

Rick examined it. He had seen pipes something like it before, but made of clay. "I thought tobacco was an American product," he observed. "How come these primitive Asiatics had it?"

"Asia used tobacco long before the Indians introduced it to Europeans," Tony replied. "But it's curious that the pipe forms should be so similar. That pipe was made by a process we now use in America for very delicate castings. It is called the 'lost wax' process."

"Funny name," Chahda said, interested.

"Yes, until you know about the process. The Ifugao makes the pipe he wants out of wax, then coats it with clay, leaving a hole in the clay. Then he puts the clay in the fire. The clay hardens, but the wax melts and runs out. The Ifugao, then, has a mold exactly like the pipe he made of wax. He melts the metal he chooses – gold, in this case – and pours it into the clay mold. When the metal cools, he breaks off the mold, and there is his pipe."

"Lost wax," Scotty said. "You're right. It fits."

At that moment Angel Manotok came into the recess. "I've been listening. Don't think I'm presuming, please, but could we work faster? Perhaps talk about it later?"

Angel was right, of course. Tony said, "I shouldn't have taken the time to clean those things. We'll collect them mud and all." He went back into the hole and worked rapidly, filling the buckets as fast as the boys could haul them up.

Rick thought that the crypt probably was dry when the objects were first placed in it. But the water used to irrigate the rice terraces had seeped through between the carefully selected stones that lined the pit, bringing fine particles of dirt and gradually building up a reservoir of mud in the bottom. Most of the water seeped in and seeped out again, but the particles of soil remained.

Tony suddenly gave a cry. "I think I have it!" He braced an object on his knee and wiped it. "It is! And by its weight, it's thick-walled but hollow! What a find! Boys, this is wonderful! Tremendous!"

The scientist tried to place the muddy object in a bucket, but it was too large to fit. He called, "Can one of you lean away in? I'll hold it up as high as I can."

Tony's excavations had taken him down another two feet, but with Chahda and Scotty holding onto his legs, Rick was able to reach in and take the object from Tony's outstretched hands. It was bulky, slightly larger than a human head, and it was heavy – as heavy as lead, or gold!

Scotty and Chahda pulled Rick out of the pit, then they lowered the rope for Tony. In a moment he was working on the object, wiping and brushing. There was a yellow gleam to it now, and the shape was becoming more and more skull-like as the mud was removed. Tony worked rapidly, and in a few moments he held it up for them to see. It was a skull, finely executed of heavy sheet gold, and the workmanship bore the unmistakable stamp of Alta Yuan.

"We've succeeded," Tony said, his voice hushed. "Beyond my wildest expectations!"

And in that moment Dog Meat and Angel called simultaneously.

The Ifugao warriors were advancing across the field in ominous silence, spears ready. Nast and Lazada were nowhere in sight, but at the head of the warriors was Nangolat!

Hastily the golden artifacts were put out of sight in the recess and Tony walked to meet the oncoming Ifugaos.

Scotty pulled the retractor of his rifle and a cartridge rammed into the firing chamber. He held the rifle casually, but ready for instant action.

Nangolat came closer, and his face was distorted with emotion. He held the spear in his fist, ready for stabbing or throwing. When he spoke, his voice, usually moderate, was nearly a scream.

"I almost believed you," he sobbed. "But now I know the truth! You are here to desecrate our temples and to rob us of the precious relics of my people."

Then the Ifugao saw that the dragon had been moved. He bared his teeth with fury and his eyes were glazed, black with emotion. He was beyond reason.

"Die!" he screamed. "Die!"

His hand flashed back for the throw. Scotty's rifle spoke sharply and the heavy slug caught the blade of Nangolat's spear. The Ifugao was whirled around bodily. He fell as the spear was wrenched from him and hurled a dozen yards away.

It was the signal. The Ifugao warriors rushed, launching spears as they came. Rick pulled Tony back to the shelter of the truck. Angel, Scotty, and Chahda were calmly firing at the oncoming wave, shooting low with deadly accuracy. From the terrace above, Balaban was firing down with good effect, while Dog Meat whammed away with the shotgun.

Spears bounced off the truck, the jeep, and the dragon. Now and then one hung quivering in the wall of the recess, but the Spindrift group had good shielding and there were no casualties.

The attackers were wavering now. A priest with a knot of chicken feathers in his hair leaped forward, holding a skull high. Rick guessed it was an important symbol of some kind, because he saw the warriors rally. He sighted in and his shot blasted the skull into fragments. The wave broke and retreated.

Tony made a quick examination to be sure there were no casualties. Out on the meadow several wounded Ifugaos, all of them with leg wounds, were being helped to safety.

"We can thank Nast and Lazada for this," Tony said bitterly. "Do you realize that we are in a very bad position?"

The Ifugao warriors were reforming. Nangolat, recovered from the numbing shock of Scotty's shot, stormed among them, getting them ready for another assault. But Nangolat was no longer waving a spear. He was now armed with a rifle.

CHAPTER XVII
Make or Break

"We can stand off their assaults," Tony said. "We can't stand sniping. Not for long, at any rate."

Scotty grinned. "Neither can Nangolat. Let's see if I can fix his wagon."

They watched as Scotty wet his finger, tested for wind direction, then set the sights on his rifle. On the other side of the road Nangolat was exhorting his troops like a good general, waving his rifle to emphasize his words.

Scotty took a classic sharpshooter's position, relaxed but braced. Rick saw him inhale and hold it. The rifle muzzle moved slowly, following Nangolat's movements. Then, suddenly, the rifle spoke.

Nangolat was thrown into the midst of his warriors, while his rifle, its stock shattered, flailed into the ranks and knocked two warriors down. And then Nangolat went berserk. He snatched a spear from one of his men, turned, and ran toward the defenders, screaming. A priest barked an order and two warriors dashed forward, caught Nangolat, and hauled him back by force.

"The old priest had sense enough to know Nangolat wouldn't make it," Angel said.

"All right," Tony said crisply. "We're trapped in here. It's not a bad place to be trapped for a while. They can't get at us without crossing open spaces, and there is enough overhang to the wall to prevent them from dropping rocks on our heads. Also, Balaban is up there to warn us if they try anything from that direction. But we can't stay here forever. We need help. How do we get it?"

"It has to be the constabulary at Baguio," Rick said. "There isn't any other help nearby. If worst comes to worst, I suppose we could call the American ambassador and try to get him to send Air Force troops from Clark Field."

"By the time diplomatic protocol and military red tape got untangled we'd be old men," Scotty objected. "If we lived to be old men. Also, you overlooked one little thing. How do we get a message to them?"

"Wait until night and one of us sneak out."

Tony looked at his watch. "We won't last until night," he said succinctly. "It's still early morning."

Rick examined the terrain between the cave and the road, noting where the station wagon Lazada had brought was parked.

"I'm going," he said. "Let history record that Rick Brant carried a message to…"

"Not Garcia," Chahda said. "That was in Cuba, says my Worrold Alminack. Carry message to cops."

"How?" Scotty demanded.

"You create a diversion. I'll get in the jeep and make a run for it."

Scotty considered. "It could work. But I'll do it."

"My idea," Rick said firmly. "I'll do it."

Tony was deep in thought. After all, the safety of the expedition was his responsibility. "I got us into this," he said. "Bad judgment is no excuse. I was certain it would work out."

"Would have, if Lazada had stayed home," Chahda said. "I go with Rick. He drive, I shoot. Okay?"

"There doesn't seem to be any alternative," Tony agreed. "Staying or going makes little difference, so far as danger is concerned. All right, Rick. We can create a diversion when they start to charge next time. If we start the truck and roll it toward the village, I'm sure we can create a little excitement."

"That's smart," Scotty approved. "The truck would go right on across the road, across the terrace, and tumble down. It wouldn't hit the village, though. It would land on the next terrace."

"I doubt that they'd think of that in the excitement," Tony commented. "But take away the jeep and truck and you take away our good cover from spears. We need an earthwork fort, quickly. All hands turn to."

There were tools enough. While the Ifugao warriors argued among themselves, and Nangolat, somewhat calmed down, tried to work them up to a new pitch of excitement, the Spindrift group dug. Within a few minutes there was a very respectable earthen berm across the front of the recess. The riflemen could lie behind it and be reasonably protected from spears.

They were just in time, too. The Ifugaos were steadying down and Nangolat had a spear in his hand once more.

"I'll start the truck," Scotty said quickly. "Head for them, then jump out, leaving it in first. Don't start the jeep until I'm moving. We should be able to hold them off until you return in the Sky Wagon."

Rick suddenly realized that the steel poles for the pickup cable were with the gear on the truck. He reminded Scotty of the fact. "I'll snatch Tony's loot right out of your hands," he said. "That will take some of the heart out of them."

"Or make them madder," Scotty added. They hurried to unload the truck. Chahda checked his rifle.

"Make or break," Rick said. "If I make it, fine. If not, that breaks our chances down to zero. But I'll make it."

Scotty ran for the truck cab, climbed in, and started the engine. The Ifugaos stopped their yelling to look. For a moment they milled around, uncertain, then Scotty threw the truck into gear and started directly for them.

Rick and Chahda jumped into the jeep. Rick started the engine and pulled out the choke slightly to avoid a possible stall. Scotty leaped from the truck, leaving the unmanned vehicle to bounce across the meadow directly toward the ranks of the Ifugaos! They hesitated, then scattered – and Rick stepped on the gas.

He angled the jeep across the meadow, coaxing maximum speed out of it, paying no attention to ruts or bumps. From beside him came the sharp crack of Chahda's rifle. Once a spear passed overhead and dug into the rice beyond.

Then Rick slowed for the stone blocks at the edge of the meadow and let the jeep climb over them to the road. A spear clanged off the rear and another ripped the rear-seat cushion. Chahda fired one shot after another, muttering to himself in Hindi.

They were on the road! Rick gave the jeep all it would take. In his rear-view mirror he caught a glimpse of Ifugaos pursuing him, of the truck stopped at the edge of the meadow, then they were around the curve of a terrace wall, free.

Rick kept the accelerator to the floor except on the worst curves. They climbed out of the valley, crossed the ridge, and emerged at their camp. Pilipil was waiting. They slowed long enough to yell instructions to strike the tents and cooking gear, and load them in the jeep and be ready to leave on a moment's notice, then they drove down the mountain at breakneck speed, with Chahda holding on for dear life. Fortunately, they had to pass through only one gate, and the gatekeeper waved them right through. They passed Igorot villages, narrowly missing chickens and pigs, then bounced across a river bed and into Bontoc.

The trip had taken one hour. The boys pulled up in front of the road commissioner's office and ran in. De los Santos met them. "You are excited!" he exclaimed. "Is something wrong?"

"Very wrong," Rick replied. "We must use your phone. How do I get Baguio?"

"I will get it for you. Who do you want?"

"The constabulary!"

Santos looked startled, but he cranked the phone several times, talked in Ilokano, and finally handed the phone to Rick.

A voice at the other end said, "Constabulary detachment. Corporal Alvarez."

Rick said quickly, "We need help at Banaue. A party of Americans are trapped by Ifugaos. Unless they get help quickly, they'll all be killed!"

Corporal Alvarez replied, "There must be a mistake. The Ifugaos are peaceful."

"Not any more," Rick yelled. "I just came from there. They're throwing spears. They mean business!"

Suddenly the corporal was unable to understand. Rick yelled, begged, and threatened, to no avail. At last he hung up, defeated. "Something's fishy," he said. "Very fishy. The corporal knew what I meant, I'm sure. He treated it as a joke. Chahda, Lazada is behind this!"

Santos coughed. Rick whirled on him. "What do you know about it?"

"Nothing, I assure you."

The man was lying. Rick was sure of it. He grabbed him by the lapels and said, "Talk. Talk! My friends may lose their lives unless we can do something."

Chahda took a hunting knife from his belt and put the point against Santos' throat. "Talk," he said gently. "You have two seconds." He pushed a little.

Santos' light-brown complexion turned dirty gray. "All right," he gasped. "I am a good man, but Lazada is my boss. I do not like what he has done. Last night he stayed here, and I heard him talk to the American, Nast. They laughed about how they had told the constabulary that a group of crazy Americans were up here and would be calling them with a practical joke, to which they should not pay attention. They told the constabulary this both in Baguio and Manila."

"And they believed him, because he is Assistant Secretary of the Interior," Rick said bitterly. "Now what? We'll never convince them. He couldn't order them not to help, so he planted a story that would do the same thing. The only thing I can do now is call the American ambassador and see if he can go through diplomatic channels to get help."

"Take too much time," Chahda said. "It will be too late."

Santos muttered in the native dialect.

"What was that?" Rick asked sharply.

"Filipino saying. 'What good is hay to a dead horse.'"

"Wait!" Rick had a quick mental image of the Filipino officer who had first spoken the phrase. Colonel Felix Rojas. He would believe the story. Hadn't he warned them?

"Get me Manila," Rick said. "Quickly. Constabulary Headquarters!"

It took time. It seemed like an hour, but was only fifteen minutes. And Colonel Felix Rojas was on the wire.

Rick talked fast, telling the colonel the whole story, including Chahda's espionage activities. When he had finished, Rojas said crisply, "No time to get troops there. It will take planes. I will send a fighter plane first. Then will come a platoon of paratroopers, if I can get the Army to move fast enough. But it will be two hours before the troopers can get there, even with the best speed possible. The fighter will be there in an hour. Tell your friends to hold out. Return to Manila as soon as your party is safe. See no one, talk to no one until you see me."

The colonel rang off.

"An hour," Rick said. "And an hour after that before the paratroopers arrive. Can they hold out?"

"They must," Chahda said flatly.