They saw a woman leave the circle of fires and approach their hut bearing two crude dishes. She hesitated near the door, nervously searching the newcomer with timid black eyes, but reassured by Terry's low word she climbed the bamboo steps and laid before them a supper of venison, yams and boiled rice, then scampered out with a twinkle of brown legs. While they ate the Major outlined the news of Davao. Terry, tired of the monotonous fare, finished quickly and sat on the threshold, looking out upon the savages who squatted at supper about the fires. "Major," he said, "we arrived here at a strange time. These people are all worked up over the question as to who shall succeed Ohto as chief of the tribe. You remember I told you that he has no relatives, that they have all died off. His last grandson died three years ago. He was to have married--" He broke off and turned to face the Major. "You may remember my reporting a Bogobo tale to the effect that a Spanish baby had been abducted?" "Yes, we looked it up, Terry. It was true." "It's true all right. She is here! A wonderful girl, Major, beautiful, wildly reared but--well, you may see her to-night for yourself. She was stolen by these people when she was an infant and Ohto's grandson was three years old, stolen to become his bride when both came of age. That is the way they keep their chieftain strain fresh--by stealing children from outside tribes and mating them when they grow up. Ahma--that is her name--is the only white child they ever abducted. "But Ohto's grandson died a year before the marrying age. She has grown up in Ohto's household, has been taught their beliefs, dresses like them except that as his adopted daughter she is entitled to finer things. She is one of them except for the whiteness of her skin. One of them, yet ... different." His voice trailed off into a silence in which the subdued murmurings of the Hill People sounded loud. The Major stirred where he lay stretched on the hard couch: "Who will succeed this Ohto, then?" Terry roused himself. "The tribe is wrought up over this problem, as well as the problem of our presence here. They gather every night and discuss the matter. Some want to select a new chief among the young men and train him so that he will be ready when Ohto dies, others insist that Ahma--this girl--shall select a husband from among them and thus raise him automatically to chieftainship. But she laughs at them all, though there are plenty of aspirants for the honor. The old chief has said nothing--he just sits and thinks. "He loves Ahma with all of the wild love of a savage for the young he has cared for since infancy. He seems to consider her happiness even above the wishes and welfare of the tribe." "Terry, you said this girl is 'different.' How different?" Terry shrugged his shoulders, rose and secured their hats before answering. "You will probably see her to-night, Major. Come, I want to show you the Tribal Agong."