She got ten miles beyond this last stopping place before sunset. That night she stopped at a small inland village. As she lay down to sleep on the bamboo floor in the hut of a Tagalo family whose acquaintance she had readily formed, recollections of the place which she had passed during the afternoon where she had previously robbed the old couple immediately after she was released upon oath by the Americans, suggested to her the thought that she was violating her oath; that she was now out in a country where she might be betrayed at any moment by her own people, or else be captured by a squad of American infantry or cavalry; therefore, she decided that on the following day she would destroy her identity. Upon retiring the previous night Marie coiled up for a pillow her head of long black hair. "I hate to give it up," thought she, "but what will the Americans do to me if they capture me another time? Oh! well, after the war is over it will soon grow out again." The next morning, after a scanty breakfast of bananas and rice, and a pineapple which Marie salted heavily before she ate it, she went to a native barber and had her long hair cut close to the scalp, except for a little tuft on top which she had him brush up for a pompadour. Before cutting off her hair the barber tied a piece of hemp very tightly around it, just back of her neck. After he had detached it, he held it in front of Marie and asked her what she wished done with it. She took it in her own hands. The barber kept on trimming her shortened hair. Marie stopped talking and seemed to be in deep meditation. Presently the barber said. "That's all." Marie arose from the rough mahogany slab on which she had been sitting, handed him a puesta (twenty cents, Mexican), looked out of the window and said, "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll trade you my hair for that quilas (two-wheeled cart) standing there." "All right"; said the barber, "My pony is dead, and the war has so devasted the country, and money has become so scarce, that I can't afford to buy another one." "The harness hanging on it goes with the cart," said Marie. "Oh no!" exclaimed the barber, "my wife borrowed that, and I must return it." "It doesn't make any difference to whom it belongs," said Marie, emphatically, "you traded me the cart, and everything that was in it goes with the trade. How do you suppose I could hitch my pony into the cart without a harness?" Just then she pulled a bolo out from under her apron. The barber said no more. Marie hitched her pony into the cart and started on toward Baler. That day she followed a good road leading toward the mountains near the eastern coast of Luzon. By night her pony had made twenty miles. She had already reached the foot-hills. It was impossible for her to make head-way any longer with the cart. She would soon be across the mountains and be in the region to be approached by the American relief party. What was to be done?