By ten o'clock on the following morning Rick and his friends were jouncing along a twisting, bumpy road into the foothills of Mindanao. They had risen with the dawn and taken Philippines Airlines, PAL for short, to Davao. On arrival they had checked in at the Apo View Hotel and had lost no time in finding local constabulary headquarters.

Major Paulo Lacson, in charge of the detachment, had instantly ordered a pair of command cars. Before the Spindrifters quite realized it, they were whisked out of town, en route to the point where Briotti and Shannon had vanished. Colonel Rojas' letter of introduction had really worked magic.

Rick stared out at the tropical landscape, and toward the peak of Mount Apo, an active volcano over nine thousand feet high, but he didn't really notice details. In a short while they would be at what he considered the real start of their search.

The major drove the lead car, with Zircon in front beside him. Rick and Scotty occupied the rear seat. In the second car were four armed, enlisted men. As the small convoy roared toward the town of Calinan, Major Lacson told them all he knew of the case. It was the same information the three had already received, naturally enough, since their information had been based on the officer's reports.

Rick shook his head worriedly. If Lacson, obviously an intelligent and efficient officer, could find out no more, how could three strangers?

The command car whisked by an abacá plantation, with mile after mile of lush green bananalike abacá plants extending into the foothills.

"Look." Scotty pointed at drying racks on which Manila hemp fiber, product of the abacá, was drying. The fiber was a honey blond shade.

"It's just the color of Barby's hair," Rick exclaimed.

Major Lacson explained, "Abacá is graded by color. White is best, but that shade means it is very good. It will bring a good price." Then, as the command car topped a rise, the major pointed ahead. "There is Calinan."

The town was a small one, with stores and houses on both sides of a single main street. The place had a sleepy air.

At the edge of town Lacson drew up in front of a house that flew the flag of the republic. A sergeant ran out, came stiffly to attention, and saluted. After a brief command from the major, the sergeant ran to climb into the second car.

"Juan speaks a little Bagobo," Lacson explained. "He can translate for us."

The two cars moved through the town, past a group of colorfully arrayed people with flat turbans. "There are some Bagobos now," Lacson said. "They come to town to shop."

Rick looked with interest. In the few seconds before the car sped out of sight he saw that the primitives were light of skin, had pierced ears from which dangled loops, and that the men wore trousers formed of a single piece of cloth put on like a skirt, then pulled between the legs and fastened to an ornate belt. Their clothes were brightly colored.

As Calinan dropped behind, the country turned to tropical forest, with tall lauan and tanguile trees, the source of so-called Philippine mahogany. Once Rick saw coffee bushes growing under the trees.

Then, only a short distance from Calinan, the paved road came to an abrupt end and narrowed to little more than a dirt trail. The command car bucked over hummocks of cogon grass while the boys held on to keep from being tossed out. Finally, in a small clearing, the road petered out entirely.

This was the glade, Lacson explained, in which the truck driver had left Briotti and Shannon. No one had seen them since.

Towering trees cut off the sun and the air was heavy and damp with the smell of tropic growth. Mosquitoes whined.

Lacson handed around a small bottle of insect repellent. "Rub in well," he directed. "You can leave your coats in the car. It will be a warm hike."

Rick shed his coat gladly. They had worn their tropical suits, and Lacson had rushed them off so fast there had been no chance to change.

The major gave orders in Chebucano. Two troopers saluted and fell back. They would stay with the cars. Juan, the trooper from Calinan, took the lead as the rest started up the trail that led into the jungle from the clearing.

"Juan knows the trail," Lacson said. "Also, he is good at spotting snakes and animals."

Rick fell into line behind Zircon and Lacson. Scotty walked at his side while the two enlisted men brought up the rear.

It was an eerie hike, through growth so thick one couldn't see more than five paces on either side of the trail. Overhead the foliage met, and the group walked through a kind of steaming green tunnel. The sun never penetrated to the jungle floor, where pale plants grew in profusion.

There was life in the trees overhead, heard but unseen. Once Rick recognized the howl of monkeys. Again, by the side of the trail, there was a sudden chittering and a tiny furry form made a fantastic leap to the safety of a rattan vine. Rick caught a glimpse of a monkeylike face and huge eyes.

"A tarsier," Zircon remarked. "Shannon had hoped to collect one."

Rick wondered whether Shannon and Briotti had hiked up this trail. The headman of the Bagobo village had told Lacson that the Americans had not been seen by his people. Might they have vanished on this trail?

He wiped his face and neck with a sodden handkerchief and plodded ahead through the green steam bath. Insects formed a cloud around his head, flew into his eyes and even into his mouth. He bore it stoically. It was as bad for the others.

Anyone who walked off the beaten trails would be helplessly lost without a compass or an experienced guide. A man could wander in the dense growth until death in some unpleasant form claimed him. One couldn't even see a trail from more than a few feet away.

Half an hour later, Rick saw that the growth was giving way to a different kind of jungle forest, as the trail sloped upward. In a short time they entered a more normal forest of tall, white lauans over a hundred feet high, with strange roots like flying buttresses.

Soon the forest gave way to open plain, sparsely dotted with papaya trees and a lone mango. Lacson called that they were almost at their destination. Rick wiped his face and was grateful. His clothes hung on him as though he had been caught in a torrential rain. In spite of the insect repellent, he had been chewed by assorted bugs.

He forgot his discomfort at the sight of the village. Apparently civilization had reached the Bagobos. The huts were of sawed lumber and tin roofing material. He saw one roof made from an American gasoline sign.

In contrast with the drab surroundings, the people were bright spots of color. They eyed the group with frank curiosity, then followed as Juan led the way to the headman's hut.

The headman met them with dignified courtesy. Rick saw that the man was nearly six feet tall, with a lean, hawklike face, the skin stretched tightly over high cheekbones. He looked like an American Indian, but his skin was the color of a white man who has spent his life outdoors in the tropics. The Bagobos clearly were of a different race than the Filipinos.

"That's quite a man," Scotty whispered.

Rick nodded. He, too, was impressed by the headman, except for one thing. Although the Bagobo talked freely, through Juan, his eyes never once met those of any of the party. He looked everywhere but at the visitors.

It was out of character, Rick thought. This man, who obviously had a kind of fierce, barbaric pride, should look any man squarely in the eye.

The talk went smoothly, and Rick realized the headman had been through all this before, probably more than once, in interviews with the constabulary. To each question the Bagobo chieftain answered that he had seen no Americans, nor had his people. Had they come to the village, he would know it.

"We'll get nothing here," Zircon finally said to the major. "Frankly, I expected nothing. If there was information to be gained from this man, you could have