"Listen!" he exclaimed, intent, his hand on Terry's shoulder. In a moment another agong, somewhere close to the south, sounded several times, then another further away, then another, another. Soon the noon stillness of the brush pulsed with the mystic multi-tones of scores of far agongs rung from plantations. Slowly the murmur grew as hundreds of agongs rung by Bogobos in the foothills took up the signal, flooding the hemplands with a glad, bronze chorus. Sears gripped Terry's shoulder hard, his eyes brimming. "That's the signal we fixed up," he said. "Welcome home!" He hovered over Terry, questioning, commenting, incredulous over the Major's marriage, overjoyed that the quinine he had given Terry had been a factor in his recovery. After lunch Terry borrowed Sears' best pony and rode away with the planter's profane benedictions in his ears. He rode hard, but each familiar landmark, each twist in trail, each sight of river, each expanse of glistening hemp plants, thrilled him with a sense of homecoming. Once, drawing up to cool and water his pony, he caught the sparkle of the sunny Gulf, his nostrils sensed its tang, and with the surge of thanksgiving for the wonderful good fortune that had attended him, he first realized the strain of the past weeks. Great as was his hurry to reach Davao--an hour's tardiness might mean the loss of the weekly steamer--he spent a half-hour with Lindsey, who had ridden out to the trail in the hope of intercepting him. From Lindsey he learned more of the suspense that had hung over the Gulf since his disappearance, the deep anxiety that had spread among the Bogobos and silenced every agong in the foothills. "And Terry--the night the Giant Agong rang up there--we most went crazy!" "We wondered if you heard it, Lindsey." "Heard it! Heard it? It reached clear over on the East Coast. Boynton heard it over there." Terry pressed on. Three miles below he found Casey was out to meet him, and further on, Burns. At four o'clock he dismounted to greet some Bogobos whom he overtook on the trail. Pushing Sears' little brown hard, he rode into Davao at five o'clock. The plaza was crowded. Warned of his coming by the agong chorus, the whole town had turned out, Americans, Filipinos, Chinese, several Spaniards and Moros. The sleepy, dusty square waked to their noisy welcome. "_El Solitario!! El Conquistador del Malabanan!_" Laughing, misty eyed with the warmth of their greeting, he stood in the center of the jostling crowd, shaking hands, calling each white, native and Mongolian by name. Then the Macabebes claimed him and swept him into the privacy of the cuartel. The jealous Matak had waited till Terry entered the house that his welcome might be unshared.