The Golden Skull: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

The rifle flamed one, twice. It was perhaps twenty paces away, and the shooting was toward the drum. Rick rushed forward, arms outstretched. He heard a slap like a baseball hitting a glove, then a cry of pain. The rifle blasted again, muzzle skyward.

Rick thought he heard a siren wail, but there wasn't time to wonder. He sprang headlong toward the rifleman. His shoulder struck flesh which yielded. Then warm metal touched his hand and he grabbed for it. The rifle barrel! He leaned on it, keeping it vertical, and put his weight into the job of driving its owner back off balance.

A blow caught him under the eye and he saw stars. For a moment he relaxed his grip, then he released the rifle and reached until he found cloth. He pulled, letting himself go backward as the wearer of the cloth was pulled off balance. He landed on his back, and a knee in the chest drove the air out of him. He rolled sideways, fists driving out. One connected and the shock of hitting bone ran through his knuckles and up his arm.

A heavy weight landed on his stomach and he grunted, trying to roll out from under. Again his fist lashed out and connected. He drew it back for another punch.

Brilliant light illuminated the scene. Rick blinked in the glare and saw Scotty's grim face above him. Scotty had his fist cocked back for a punch that would have knocked him colder than a raspberry popsickle.

"Hold it," Rick grunted. Scotty was forcing the air out of him by sheer weight.

Running feet pounded the earth and hands jerked both of them to their feet. Scotty held the sniper's rifle, but the sniper was gone.

A Filipino policeman looked at them over the sights of a .45 caliber Colt automatic. Even in the reflected lights of the prowl car's head lamps, the muzzle looked only slightly smaller than the entrance to Mammoth Cave.

Rick's hair lifted. "Put that thing down!" he gulped.

"Officer," Tony said crisply, "these are the two boys from my party. They were chasing the burglar." He added, "Apparently they succeeded only in catching each other. What in the name of an Igorot icebox were you two trying to do?"

The boys looked embarrassed. "We had the sniper," Rick explained. "But we must have got tangled up. I thought the man with the rifle was the burglar, but it was Scotty."

"He threw the rifle at me," Scotty said. "I reached for him, swung on him and connected, then the rifle knocked me down."

The policeman's running mate came back from a search of the darkness. He spoke to his companion in Tagalog.

"No use," the first policeman said. "He is gone. We would need help to find him, since the walled city is big and has many hiding places. Can you give a description? By the time help came he could be miles from here. Perhaps we can get him later."

Rick knew how hopeless that was.

"Unless the boys got a better look," Tony Briotti said, "the only thing I can say is that he was either an Igorot or an Ifugao. Short and muscular. I saw his haircut – couldn't very well miss it. But not his face."

Rick and Scotty hadn't even seen that much. An Igorot or Ifugao? Probably the latter, since their expedition was connected with the Ifugaos and not the Igorots. Rick remembered the incident on the freighter. There was a pattern to this…

"I will be the one to take the rifle," the policeman said.

Rick wondered at the strange flavor of the phrase. But he was to hear it many times while in the Philippines. "I will be the one…" It was a literal translation from the Spanish.

"I will be the one to take the names," the second policeman said, opening his notebook. "You will have to make charges."

"No use," Tony replied. "Let's forget the whole thing. We'll never catch up with the man, whoever he was."

Nevertheless, the police insisted on names and histories, and it was ten minutes before the Spindrifters made their way back to the hotel. In the main dining room they talked over cups of hot chocolate, ignoring the curious stares of late supper guests who obviously wondered about Rick and Scotty's disheveled condition.

Since the boys had not wanted to discuss their personal business in front of Lazada's chauffeur there had been no chance to tell Tony about Chahda. Now they did so, and Rick ticked off points on his fingers.

"Item One: The man on the boat who tried to chop you. Either an Igorot or Ifugao. Item Two: Chahda checks out of the hotel and appears as a Sikh guard at Lazada's."

"You forgot Item Three," Scotty added. "Colonel Felix Rojas. Asked us what good is hay to a dead horse, and knew we were having dinner at Lazada's." He described the incident to Tony.

"Item Four," Rick continued. "We find a prowler in your room. He had a rifle cached in the walled city and waited around to use it on us. He was either an Igorot or Ifugao." He spread his hands. "Do we need anything more? Something is in the wind. But what?"

"A golden skull," Scotty said.

"Yes. But we don't have it. Does it make sense for anyone to try to knock us off before we have it? Shucks, we don't even know where it is, except that it's somewhere among the rice terraces."

"Which is like saying that somewhere in the Mohave Desert is a buried treasure," Scotty added.

Tony Briotti sighed. "I had heard a great deal about the penchant you two have for mysteries and excitement. Now I believe everything I've heard and more. I can't imagine any reason for all these happenings. They simply don't make sense."

"They do to someone," Rick said, and Scotty nodded agreement.

Their waiter approached, an envelope in his hand. "Meester Brant? This come while you outside. You take?"

Rick took. "Must have arrived while Scotty and I were battling for the boxing championship of the walled city." He tore it open.

"Item Five," he said. "From Chahda. 'Can't come now. Meet you in Baguio. Watch yourselves. Big danger from Ifugao no palate.'"

Scotty held his head with both hands. "Great! How do we know whether or not an Ifugao has no palate?"

"Look down the throats of every one we see," Rick said wearily. "Or maybe if an Ifugao has no palate he wears a sign to say so."

Tony Briotti rose. "That message makes no sense, either. And I make no sense to myself. It's late. Come on to bed. Maybe everything will clear up in the morning."

"Go to bed or go nuts," Rick added. "The choice is easy. But let's bar the windows. Just to keep the night air out."

"Amen," Scotty said. "I think I'll break out my rifle and keep it by the bed. Just in case some of that dangerous night air gets in."

CHAPTER V

Manotok the Mighty

At breakfast the next morning Rick and Scotty were subjected to an amused scrutiny by Tony. He ticked off the items on his fingers.

"Rick has a slight mouse under one eye, and his left arm seems a little stiff. I noticed that he sat down gingerly, and that there is a very pronounced bruise on the side of his jaw. Hands would indicate that he has been playing with a rather rough cat, except that I happen to know he was scrambling around in some cadena de amor.

"Scotty is also wearing a mouse under one eye, perhaps a little more prominent than Rick's. And he has a long scratch behind the left ear, obviously caused by some sharp instrument."

The archaeologist grinned. "If you do that to each other, what would you do to an enemy?"

The boys grinned back. "Can't tell you until we catch an enemy," Rick replied. "Actually, most of my terrible wounds came from falling down."

"Same here," Scotty agreed. "And that sharp instrument you mentioned was the edge of a tin can."

Tony spooned succulent orange-colored papaya melon with appreciation. "Have either of you figured out what our Ifugao friend – let's assume that he was an Ifugao – wanted in my room last night?"

"The only answer I can think of is the obvious one," Rick answered. "He probably thought we have a map or something showing the location of the golden skull. He wanted it."

"I accept the hypothesis only because I haven't a better one," Tony said. "How about you, Scotty?"

Scotty shrugged. "Can't buy it. But on the other hand, I don't have any theory. Wish Sherlock Holmes were here."

"We could use him," Briotti admitted. "Well, what's the program for today?"

"Off to Baguio," Rick replied. "But first, we'll have to rent or buy a truck. The plane can't carry us plus our gear, and we'll need the truck to take our stuff into the mountains. Scotty and I can do that. What are your plans?"

"There's an American anthropologist here I'd like to see. He's internationally known. Name of J. Walter McGowan. I made a tentative appointment yesterday. I'm sure he will have some information on the Ifugaos that will be of interest. Probably Okola has included in his papers on the subject everything McGowan knows, but I'd like to talk with him just to get the feel of things, so to speak."

"Then why don't you do that this morning?" Rick suggested. "We'll get the truck, load the gear, and get ready to take off."

"Wonder where that Filipino Angel is?" Scotty asked. "Wasn't he supposed to be here this morning?"

"I don't think Okola specified a time," Tony replied. "And the morning is still pretty young."

That was true enough, Rick thought. Besides, he had the impression that the Filipinos, although they followed Western customs, had the Far Easterners' disregard of time.

"If the Angel doesn't arrive, one of us will have to drive the truck to Baguio," he said. "I had hoped he would take the truck, then we three could fly."

Scotty asked, with deceptive casualness, "Tony, what do you think of Dr. Okola?"

Tony answered promptly. "A first-rate scientist and a distinguished gentleman besides. Why?"

"Do you trust him?"

"Implicitly. We're not dealing with a stranger here, Scotty. Okola's name has been known to me since I first became interested in archaeology. We have many mutual friends, and he has been very helpful and courteous since this project was first proposed. Yes, I trust him."

"That's good," Scotty said, "since we're buying the services of this Angel purely on his say-so. We'll have to trust Angel. We have no choice."

"True. I'm prepared to trust him, simply because Okola said we could."

Rick nodded agreement. "I'll take him on faith, too." He had learned not to be overtrustful in far places among strangers, but he agreed with Tony's estimate of Okola. The man, he believed, was just what he seemed to be – a Filipino scientist and gentleman. He had liked Okola.

"All right," Scotty said. "I'll go along. Okola seemed like a real compadre. But how about Lazada? Do you trust him?"

Tony considered. He finished his papaya, then tackled a mango salad, an unusual but delicious breakfast dish. "I don't distrust him," he said finally. "That's negative, but the best I can do. He's not the type of individual who appeals to me very much, but without further evidence I'd hesitate to mark him untrustworthy."

"I have a hunch," Rick said. "My hunch says that Mr. Lazada is crooked as a helical coil. I wouldn't trust him anywhere, any time."

Scotty agreed. "I would have said he's no straighter than the cutting edge of a saw. And he's just about that sharp, too. Trouble with you is, Tony, you're too civilized. You always see the best in everything, including people."

"Don't you?" Tony asked mildly.

The boys chuckled. Of course they did, and Tony knew it. But on an expedition like this, their suspicions came to the fore and they automatically distrusted everyone. Lack of distrust had caused them much trouble on other expeditions, and had come close to costing them their lives.

The headwaiter approached. "There is a man to see Dr. Briotti. Shall I have him wait?"

"That must be Okola's man," Tony said. "No, please bring him here."

The three watched with interest as the headwaiter went to the door and returned leading a short, dark man.

Rick examined him with interest. At first glance the Filipino seemed quite short, as so many of his race are. Then Rick's discerning eyes saw the breadth of his shoulders. And he saw that the man wasn't really very short; he only seemed to be because of his extraordinary shoulder width.

The man was dressed simply but neatly in typical Filipino style with white trousers and a white shirt. The shirt had no tail, but was cut square at the bottom like a sport shirt. The collar was sport-shirt style, too, worn open, and disclosed a muscular throat.

The man bowed slightly. "Dr. Briotti?"

"I am Briotti." He indicated the boys. "Mr. Brant and Mr. Scott. And you?"

"I am Angel Manotok, at your service. Dr. Okola said that you needed a driver, guide, and general handyman. He said that he had recommended me."

"Yes. Please sit down. Will you have breakfast?"

"Some coffee, perhaps. I have already had breakfast."

Angel Manotok had a strong, square face. Rick thought that he looked very much like an American Indian. His hair was thick and very black, and freshly cut into a sort of crew cut.

"You will want to see my papers," Angel said.

He produced a wallet and extracted several documents. The Spindrifters examined them. There was a Philippine driver's license, a United States Army driver's license indicating that the bearer was qualified to drive military vehicles, an honorable discharge from the Philippine Scouts, which had been a part of the United States Army, and a certificate from the Philippine Public Health Service certifying that Angel Manotok, as of three weeks ago, had been X-rayed and found free of tuberculosis.

"So you were in the Philippine Scouts," Scotty remarked.

Angel grinned, showing strong white teeth. "I have been many things, including a scout. I have also been a lumberjack in Zambales Province, a gold miner in Baguio, and a farmer in Mindanao."

"You speak remarkably good English," Tony commented.

"Thank you, sir. You will notice from my discharge that I was a sergeant in the Philippine Scouts. I had the advantage of American military schools. I also attended college – the Ateneo de Manila, which has American Jesuit priests as teachers. I did not graduate, unfortunately, but I did learn your language rather better than most Filipinos."

Rick liked Angel at once. He nodded at Tony and Scotty, and they nodded back. Tony at once began discussing salary and general arrangements with Angel.

When they had reached an agreement, Angel grinned. "Now I can tell you. Since Dr. Okola was very anxious for me to go, I was prepared to work for you just for food. But a salary is much better."

"Much," Tony agreed. "We prefer it that way, too, although I appreciate your loyalty to Dr. Okola."

"Where is your baggage?" Rick asked.

"I left it outside at the desk. I haven't much to carry along. Just work clothes and a few tools."

"Where can we get a truck?" Scotty inquired.

"What kind would you like?"

Rick answered. "An Army six-by-six, if possible."

"That can be done. Rent or buy?"

"Which do you suggest?"

"Rent. Let me do it for you. I can bargain much better than you can."

"Fine," Rick agreed. "We'll go with you and watch."

Angel shook his head. "Better not. If the dealer knows the truck is for Americans, the price will go up. If he thinks it is for a Filipino, the price will be low. Let me get a truck – I'll be sure it's a good one – and meet you here."

Rick considered. "No, let's make another plan. I want to spend a little more time checking my plane. Suppose you get the truck, then meet us at Hangar 18 at the airport. We can come back here and load after lunch. Then we can fly to Baguio while you follow with the truck."

"Have you ever driven to Baguio?" Scotty asked.

"Many times. It takes between six and seven hours, depending on the traffic. Some parts of the road aren't very good, and traffic piles up."

"Then if you leave at noon, you should be in Baguio at dinnertime."

"Yes. Shall I go now? I will need a hundred pesos. That is for a deposit on the truck."

Tony opened his billfold. "Let's see. That's fifty dollars. Is American money all right?"

Angel smiled. "American money is always all right, everywhere. I will get a truck and then come to the airport. Yes?"

"Yes. And glad to have you with us," Rick said.

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