The Golden Skull: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story. Goodwin Harold Leland

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