Terry

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Terry, by Charles Goff Thomson

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Title: Terry A Tale of the Hill People
Author: Charles Goff Thomson
Release Date: February 11, 2007 [EBook #20563]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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[Transcriber's Note: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an obvious error by the publisher is noted at the end of this ebook.]
TERRY
A TALE OF THE HILL PEOPLE
BY CHARLES GOFF THOMSON
Late Lieut.-Colonel, U. S. Army. Formerly Assistant Director of Prisons for Philippine Government

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1921
All rights reserved
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1921

DEDICATED TO
MR. E. J. B.
WHO HAS GIVEN OF HIS COUNSEL, SPIRIT AND SUBSTANCE TO NEEDY YOUNG MEN

AUTHOR'S NOTE
The poem "Casey" used in Chapter IX was written by the late Arthur W. Ferguson, formerly Executive Secretary for the Philippine Government. It has been edited and amplified but is substantially as written by him. A man of unusual facility, Mr. Ferguson composed the verses under circumstances somewhat similar to those set down herein, and with like spontaneity.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE FOX 1 II TERRY DECIDES 18 III MINDANAO 33 IV THE FANATIC 52 V NEW FRIENDS, AND AN ENEMY 66 VI THE LAND OF HEMP 80 VII THE PYTHON 98 VIII THE STRICKEN VILLAGE 111 IX MALABANAN STRIKES 126 X MALABANAN 141 XI INTO THE FORBIDDEN HILLS 157 XII THE MAJOR FOLLOWS 175 XIII THE HILL PEOPLE 198 XIV AHMA 211 XV THE SIGN 220 XVI CIVILIZATION DAWNS IN THE HILLS 239 XVII "SUS-MARIE-HOSEP!" 250 XVIII THE FOX SKIN 262

TERRY
CHAPTER I
THE FOX
The frosty silence of the snow-mantled hills was rent by the vicious crack of a high-powered, small-calibered rifle. The hunter sprang from the thicket in which he had lain concealed and crossed the gully to a knoll where a black furry bundle had dropped to the snow after one convulsive leap.
Exultant, Terry bent down to examine the silky black coat.
"Right through the ear. Well, Mister Fox, you're mine--though you did lead me a merry chase for twelve days! You laughed at me till the snow came--knew I wouldn't bring you out of your hole with formalin, that it was a square game we played. But to-day everything broke against you, boy,--sun and wind and snow. And perhaps hunger."
The twinge of pain that stabs every true sportsman as he realizes that he has extinguished a spark of life shadowed Terry's thin, sensitive face. It was a face of singular appeal, dominated by a queer twist of upper lip that stamped his mouth with a permanent wistfulness. Even in the bracing cold of the winter morning his skin was white, but the clear pallor was belied by the swift energy with which he moved and the eager sparkle of his dark gray eyes. He picked up the fluffy bundle and stroked the sleek fur.
"Hard luck, old boy! But now you'll never be hungry again, or cold. And I haven't hunted you all this time just for the sake of the sport." His face lighted. "You're going to be a proud little fox. If foxes have souls--and I don't see why we should deny you what we lay selfish claims to for ourselves--yours will rejoice in the purpose of your end. Every night and every morning you--"
He broke off as the distant pealing of church bells came to his ears, carried faintly but clearly by the light wind that whispered over the snowy stretches of rolling meadowlands. For a long time Terry stood facing toward the invisible village, his face moody and inscrutable. As the sound of the bells died away he shook off the spell with conscious, humorous effort and picking up his rifle and the fox he went into the thicket to secure and adjust his snowshoes.
Ignoring paths and sleighroads he made his way toward the town. The crisp pine-laden air charged his muscles with exuberant excess of the fine energy of youth and he made his way swiftly across the sparkling snow that blanketed the gentle landscape, through the thickets of evergreens and across the tiny, ice-edged creeks that flowed in swift escape from winter's frozen grip.
Keen-eyed, he stopped a moment in study of a group of pheasants that huddled in a clump of underbrush. They played