Rick Brant - The Golden Skull Part 15

"I've always wanted to be a pun pal," Scotty said.

Far ahead, green shelves gave a regular pattern to the base of one mountain. Rick pointed them out to Angel. "What's that?"

"Igorot rice terraces."

"Igorot? I thought the rice terraces were Ifugao."

"The Igorots have them, too. They are not so--I don't have the word for it. Big, make one open the eyes in wonder, very fine. The kind of thing that makes you feel surprise here." Angel put his hand on his stomach.

"Breath-taking?" Scotty suggested. "Spectacular?"

"Yes. Both. These Igorot terraces are nothing. Wait until you see the terraces at Banaue."

Three pairs of eyes scanned the road ahead. It was deserted.

"Tell us about rice," Rick asked. "There was rice below when we flew to Baguio, too."

"Yes. A great deal of rice. You pa.s.sed over Pampanga Province, which is called the rice bowl of the Philippines. That rice is grown in paddies, which are fields with little earth walls around them called dikes. The paddies can be flooded. Rice needs much water. Down there, though, the land is flat."

Scotty pointed to a razorback ridge. "This land sure isn't flat."

"No, but the Igorot and Ifugao workers make it flat by building terraces. Each terrace is like a little paddy. It can be flooded, just as the lowland paddies are. The water comes from the mountains in pipes made of bamboo."

"It must be quite a water system," Rick observed.

"Yes. There are miles of bamboo pipes, but no water is wasted. The water is put into the upper terraces, then it runs by itself through openings down to the lower terraces."

"Is the rice the same?"

"Nearly. There is another kind called highland rice that is planted like wheat. We have a little wheat, too, but not enough to feed many people.

The highland rice is not very good. Paddy rice is better."

Rick was interested. He continued his questioning. "Are the paddies flooded all the time?"

"Oh, no. They are flooded before the rice is planted. You know we do not plant seed in the paddies? We plant baby rice plants which are grown in special places. The little plants are pushed into the mud after the paddy is flooded. Then the water is left for a while. But if we left it all the time, the plants would rot. So after a while we let the water out and only let in enough to keep the rice growing."

They were over the terraces now. Beyond them, Rick saw brown houses that looked like beehives. It was an Igorot village.

"We'll reach Bontoc soon," Angel said.

"No truck and no sedan," Scotty added unhappily. "They couldn't have reached Bontoc, could they?"

"The truck could have, easily, if Nangolat drove during the night."

"Then we'll have to keep hunting past Bontoc right into Banaue."

Angel tapped Rick on the shoulder and pointed ahead. "There is Bontoc."

Nestled in the mountains on the bank of a river was the town of Bontoc, a small cl.u.s.ter of wooden and gra.s.s houses. Rick saw that the dirt road had changed to a black top.

"I'm going to look for a place to land."

Scotty nodded. "Good idea."

Rick waited until the town was directly below, then he sized up the terrain and began to lose alt.i.tude in a tight spiral. It was in situations like this that the Sky Wagon's flaps came in handy. He pulled the control down and the movable sections on the trailing edges of the wings moved down in response. He began to lose speed.

When he was five hundred feet over the town he flew parallel with the road, searching for wires and other hazards. There were wires, but they entered the town from the south, then branched west, toward Banaue. To the north there were no wires, nor any other hazards he could see. And the road looked level. He picked a stretch at the edge of the little town where the houses were far apart. They were primitive little dwellings made of straw tied together in bundles. He hoped his prop wash wouldn't blow them apart.

"Hang on," he said. "Here we go."

The movement of rice stalks in a paddy near the road gave him wind direction. He should land from the north. He circled, got into position, and started in. Scotty leaned forward, eyes peeled for obstructions.

There was excitement in the town below. People in Western clothes and in scant breechcloths or tight skirts of Igorots were running into the open to see what was making the racket. Rick hurried the landing a little, afraid the people would clutter up the strip of road he had chosen. He put the Sky Wagon down with no sign of a b.u.mp and braked to a stop.

Then, because children were getting near, outstripping their elders in haste to see the plane, Rick cut the engine.

Two Igorot boys, perhaps fourteen years old, were the first to reach the plane as the three climbed out. The Igorots had the chopped-off bowl haircut, and they wore breechcloths and nothing else. They stared at the plane, wide-eyed, then one said something to his friend in guttural Igorot.

Angel Manotok grinned. Rick asked, "Did you understand?"

"Yes. I speak Igorot."

Scotty said, "They probably were talking about the great sky bird. That right, Angel?"

Angel's grin broadened. "Not exactly. The English equivalent would be slang. What he said corresponded to 'Hey, bud, get a load of the real snazzy four-place job. And dig that retractable landing gear!'"

The boy who had spoken looked at Angel with suspicion. "You no Igorot,"

he accused.

Angel chuckled. "You no Englishman, but you speak English."

The boy laughed. "Okay, Mac. My name Pilipil. I learn plenty plane stuff at Clark. Dig holes there for pay. See many plane."

Rick and Scotty got over their amazement. It was obvious that the boys were more than fourteen years old. Their short stature and unlined faces were deceptive.

"How old are you, Pilipil?" Rick asked.

"Eighteen."

Rick wanted to know more about the boy who had worked as a laborer at the American Air Force Base at Clark Field, but there was no time because the rest of the crowd had arrived. The boys found themselves surrounded by Filipinos and Igorots, all chattering with obvious excitement and interest.

A Filipino who was obviously someone of importance pushed his way through the crowd. He was dressed in a business suit, complete with starched shirt and tie, an odd rig for such a primitive village as Bontoc, Rick thought. The man was smoking a cigar with one hand and carrying a cane with the other. He hung the cane over the wrist on the cigar hand and held out the other.

"I am the district road commission. Leocadio de los Santos, at your service. Mr. Lazada informed me by letter that I was to place my entire resources at your disposal. You are Mr. Brant, Mr. Scott, and Dr.

Briotti?"

"Dr. Briotti is not with us," Rick replied. "This is Mr. Manotok."

"Ah. Delighted. Please come to my office so we may talk quietly."