Upon a slender leafless branch which extended at right angles from the trunk of a _kapok_ tree two large gray wood pigeons had perched side by side in the close communion of mated birds, heedless of the host below them. Unafraid, tired, content with what the day had brought them in the lowlands, they were happy in safe return together to their mountain home. In the hush which followed recognition by the throng, the limocons moved closer to each other, wing brushed wing, sleepy lids lowered over soft eyes to shut out the crimson glory of the dying sun. Then the little throats throbbed as they voiced gratitude to their Creator in gentle, low pitched notes, lilting with the joy of life, plaintive with the brevity of its span. The sweet song died with the day, and as dusk reached down in brief embrace of tropic earth, the birds winged side by side into the darkening forest. Peace settled upon the face of the old man who had made decision vitally affecting the welfare of the people over whom he had ruled for two generations. The limocons had sung in the East. His fathers were pleased with him. A shout of fierce joy burst from the Hillmen. Then the women surrounded the dainty white girl and bore her off to prepare for the long ceremony with which the Hill People give in marriage. And the two friends walked through the woods, arm in arm, silent, profoundly humble. CHAPTER XVII "SUS-MARIE-HOSEP!" Terry was happily engaged in remaking the Major's old pack for his own use when the Major entered the torchlit shack. It lacked an hour till dawn. Outside, the main clearing was dark, but the big fires which illuminated the surrounding trees revealed the excited natives still celebrating Ahma's nuptials in the clearing around Ohto's house. Terry straightened up from his task and studied the face of his friend: fatigue and happiness had softened the serious lines that had given the Major an appearance of age beyond his years. "Major, isn't the ceremony finished yet?" "No, it takes forty-eight hours to get married up here--and only two hours to get buried! But a month ago I would have said that it was about the correct ratio, at that." Terry grinned as he finished the pack and threw it on the floor near the door, then sat beside the Major on the cot. "Major, I want to send up a gift for Ahma by the first runner the postoffice people send through. It's hard to decide what to give her, because she is entirely different from other girls, and the usual bridal gifts would hardly do. Can't you help me out?" For a minute the Major pondered heavily: "How about a mirror? She is twenty years old and has never seen her own reflection." "Just the thing! Enter the civilizing influence of vanity in the Hill Country!"