In his stockade at Silang, Basil Hayle waited anxiously for news of the result of the great expedition against Felizardo. As an officer of the Philippines Constabulary, he felt he ought to hope that the band of outlaws would be broken up, and their chief either captured or killed. As a man, he could not disguise from himself the fact that he would be extremely sorry were any ill-luck to befall the old chief, who had proved his friend on so many occasions. The idea of Felizardo being taken and hanged, as Juan Vagas had deservedly been hanged, was absolutely repulsive to him; though on that point he had not much fear, feeling certain that they would never take the outlaw alive.

Basil knew perfectly well that he had been excluded from all participation in the movement purposely, with a view to hurting his pride, by forcing him to remain in a state of inglorious inaction, a few miles from the scene of hostilities, whilst Constabulary from other parts of the Archipelago were brought in to do the work. But he took the slight philosophically, feeling that, as a matter of fact, he would much sooner not have anything to do with the hunting down of Felizardo, a view in which his men concurred heartily. He knew Bush and his company were going—Mrs Bush had told him so, in the latest of those letters which were now the great interest of his life—but the news did not move him, knowing, as he did, that the chances of any fighting were extremely small.

It was two days after the meeting between Felizardo and Commissioner Furber that Basil heard the result of the expedition. Even then, all he got was a brief note from Lieutenant Stott at Catarman:—

“Felizardo escaped after all, simply laughed at them, and rode down to Furber’s camp, where he gave the Commissioner the fright of his life, and hanged your old friend, the Presidente of Igut. That is all I know yet. Will let you have details when they come in. They are sending all the troops back to Manila.”

Basil laid the note down with a sigh of relief. He knew now which way his sympathies really lay. After all, life at Silang would have seemed very drab and dreary had the fierce, chivalrous little man up on the mountain-side been killed, or, worse still, captured.

It was from Mrs Bush that he received the first detailed account of the great drive, and he smiled grimly to himself as he read of the dramatic ending of it all, the sudden dash on horseback through the cordon of troops, the equally sudden appearance at Commissioner Furber’s camp, the execution of the Presidente of Igut.

“My husband and his men saw nothing and did nothing, save force their way through jungle and scramble over rocks. They all came back very tired and cross. In fact, every one is tired and cross, and in favour of leaving Felizardo alone for the future. Still, the man who must decide, the Commissioner, says nothing. Somehow, he seems to have changed, and every one is wondering what he said to Felizardo, or what Felizardo said to him; but the only witness, that hateful Presidente, cannot tell us now.”

Basil read the letter several times; then sat down and cursed things in general, and Silang in particular, which was extremely illogical. If he had cursed anything, he should have cursed his own folly in falling in love with a married woman, who was far too proud ever to be more than a friend to him; but, as I said before, when men, and women too, live under the shadow of a place like Felizardo’s mountain, and have the Law of the Bolo as the background of their lives, they are apt to become illogical, or even rash, and to do things which are never supposed to be done in civilised countries. Basil’s conduct was the more foolish, and therefore the more indefensible, because he was convinced that, even if Bush were to be eliminated by means of the bolo, he himself would be no better off—worse even, for Mrs Bush would then go back to the States, and he would see her no more. All these things he would have seen and reasoned out, had he been amongst ordinary surroundings; or, at least, he ought to have done so, just as Mrs Bush would have seen the danger, and impropriety even, of writing to a man her husband loathed; but the fact remains that they did these unwise things, and were very miserable in consequence. They could not settle their love affairs as Felizardo had settled his, many years before, with a slash of the bolo ….

When Commissioner Furber got back to Manila he set his face hard, expecting to meet with veiled jeers and gibes; but, though men did rejoice over his failure, they did not do so in his presence, possibly because they saw that, for the time at least, he was a broken man. Even his colleagues showed considerable forbearance, saving only Commissioner Gumpertz, who, having discovered that the operations against Felizardo had already cost three million dollars, which might have gone to more deserving objects, such as himself, was mightily annoyed, and went to Mr Furber’s office to tell him so.

However, he did not say it all; in fact, he had hardly got into his main argument before he found it wiser to stop altogether, though, instead of taking his colleague’s advice and finishing it outside the door, he hurried back to his own office and vented his spleen on his clerks. None the less, he scored off Commissioner Furber at the meeting of the Commission on the following day.

The Governor-General himself brought up the question of Felizardo. “What do you propose as your next move, Commissioner?” he said to Furber.

The latter did not hesitate. “I have no further move in contemplation,” he replied.

Mr Gumpertz leaned forward. “May I ask why?” he enquired with dangerous politeness.

The Commissioner for Constabulary and Trade addressed his answer to the Governor, ignoring the other. “I see no use in further expeditions. They will do no good. We have done our best; but we have been mistaken all along. Felizardo would have done us no harm had we left him alone. He is an old man now, as I have seen for myself. He wishes for peace, and I should grant it to him.” He spoke slowly, coldly, decisively, as a man whose mind was made up.

The other Commissioners exchanged glances, and the Governor spoke in an unusually severe tone. “It was your department, Commissioner, which started these expeditions.”

Furber nodded. “Yes, my department. I myself take full responsibility for them, though I have been misled all through by some of our native officials here in Manila. It is to them that I shall give my attention now. I learnt a good many things whilst I was out this time. We have carried our philanthropy too far.”

Again the Commissioners exchanged glances. Could this be the same man who had been the one really sincere and pro-native amongst them, at whom they had always laughed amongst themselves, because he thought of his principles and not his pocket? But the Governor-General was growing angry. He, at least, had to stand or fall by the Little Brown Brother theory of Radical Equality.

“Supposing, Commissioner,” he said, with a veiled insult in his voice, “supposing the Commission decides not to make peace with this old scoundrel, but to continue operations. It will still be the work of your department to carry those out.”

The Commissioner laid his winning card on the table. “My department will carry out no more expeditions of the kind whilst I remain head of it. I should resign first.” He spoke very quietly, knowing well that they dare not force his resignation, and so allow him to return to the United States, and tell many things to the President, whose personal friend he was, or, more terrible still, tell them to the Press.

But though he could refuse to send out further expeditions—and he knew well that the Army authorities would refuse too—he could not open peace negotiations without the consent of the Commission, and that question was adjourned indefinitely.

Commissioner Gumpertz tried one parting shot. “What about the three million dollars your ‘mistake’ has cost?” he demanded.

His colleague’s composure remained unruffled. “They are spent,” he answered.

The Governor-General corrected him mildly. “Wasted, you mean, perhaps?”

Furber smiled. “I thank you, Governor. They have been wasted, I should have said; and also many good lives. But”—and for once he looked them all squarely in the face, with flashing eyes—“I am not the only man here who has made mistakes, and wasted money and lives. And”—his glance travelled from the Governor to Commissioner Gumpertz, and from Commissioner Gumpertz to Commissioner Johnson, and on to Commissioner George—“I have never been accused of graft;” then, regardless of etiquette, he got up abruptly and left the room.

“I am afraid his nerves have been a little tried by his recent experiences.” The Governor-General sighed. “He must see a doctor. And now has any one a proposition to make regarding this Felizardo?”

Commissioner Gumpertz had been building great hopes on the capture of Felizardo, arguing that, once the band of outlaws was destroyed, the destruction of the head-hunters, who had so nearly secured a trophy at the expense of Mr Joseph Gobbitt, would become a simple matter. Then, those hemp lands on the northern side of Felizardo’s mountains would acquire a commercial value, which meant that he himself would rake in a very considerable sum over the selling of them. Consequently, he was very greatly opposed to the principle of leaving Felizardo alone. “There is a way,” he said, in answer to the Governor-General’s question. “We should offer a large reward for the old brigand’s head, say five thousand dollars, gold. We know that Commissioner Furber’s department managed to bribe two of the band to give information; and a big reward like this should soon bring in the scoundrel’s head. It is far cheaper than expeditions.”

They discussed the matter, not at very great length, and the result of their discussions was seen the following morning, when bills were posted in Manila itself offering five thousand dollars, United States currency, for the head of Felizardo, the outlaw of the mountains; and other copies of that proclamation were sent to Igut, and Catarman, and Silang, though at the latter place they went straight on to the fire.

The Army, seeing the bills, shook its head. “It’s properly low down,” it said—“a pitiful confession of weakness. As if there wasn’t enough treachery already, without making it into a profitable trade!”

Commissioner Furber, interviewed by the Press on the subject, declined to make any statement. “I have nothing to say,” he answered to the enquiries. “The proclamation does not emanate from my department …. No, I have no opinion to offer.”

The change in the Commissioner’s views had, perhaps, been too sudden to last long. The shock of the meeting with Felizardo, the contact with a personality infinitely stronger than his own, the striking contrast between the old outlaw and the servile, lying mestizos of Manila, could not fail to leave some permanent result behind, some readjustment of his ideas on the native question; whilst the discovery of how he had been deceived and misled as to Felizardo’s character and the strength of his band, with the consequent waste of money and lives, was always a very bitter memory to him, as the mestizos found to their cost. On the other hand, the public saw little outward signs of change; he was too deeply, and it must be said, sincerely, committed to the Party and its policy, to make any open renunciations, and it was only in the higher official circles, and in the councils of the insurrecto leaders, that they realised how great an effect the interview with Felizardo had produced on Commissioner Furber. Basil Hayle, however, perceived it on the occasion of his next interview with his official chief, and wrote of it to Mrs Bush, who replied:—

“I knew when he came back from Katubig that time, after he had met the old chief, that he was a different man.”

Weeks passed without any news of Felizardo; and the Commission was beginning to fear that its offer for his head had been made in vain, when, in some mysterious way, rumours began to float round concerning the breaking-up of the band. The old man had grown so suspicious, it was said, that the others would stand him no longer, and now he was practically alone. The hopes of his enemies rose high at the news, which was confirmed a few days later by the announcement that overtures for pardon had actually been made by the mutineers.

“It is the beginning of the end,” Commissioner Gumpertz said to his secretary, William P. Hart. “When Felizardo is finished with, we can get the head-hunters cleared out, and then sell that hemp land. It’ll be easy as falling off a log then.”

It was a week after these words were spoken that two natives, ordinary tao by their appearance, came in with a large native basket, made their way to the Police headquarters, and asked for the captain.

“Well, what is it?” the latter demanded.

The elder of the strangers pointed to the basket. “We have brought the head, Senor, the head of Felizardo.”

“Holy Moses!” The captain jumped out of his chair. “What do you bring the beastly thing in here for? Never mind, though. Wait a minute,” and he went to the telephone-box, where he rang up Commissioner Furber.

The answer came back in a curt tone. “The matter is nothing to do with this department. I will not interfere, nor must you. Send them with a guide over to Commissioner Gumpertz’ office. I believe he has the affair in hand.”

The police captain whistled. “Phew! He’s in a sweet temper. Glad I didn’t go and see him myself;” then he called a native constable, and put the two tao and their ghastly burden in his charge.

Mr Gumpertz was pleased—in fact he was more than pleased, delighted; but, none the less, he did not care to inspect the trophy. Instead, he sent for his secretary.

“Who can identify this thing, Hart?” he asked.

Mr Hart scratched his head. “Well, there’s Furber, of course, but I guess he wouldn’t. He’s mighty sore about it all. See here, I’ll get De Vega to have a look round. There must be some one in the town who knew him by sight.”

It was curious how many people there were who had actually seen, and even spoken to, Felizardo; some had been prisoners in his camp, others had done business with him during the Spanish times. Senor de Vega picked six out of twenty or so, all men he knew personally, for whose honour he could vouch, and brought them back to the Palace. Then they took the basket into a small room, and set the head on a table, and all of those six reliable witnesses declared on their oath that it was the head of Felizardo. So there was great rejoicing, and the Press published obituary notices, and the two tao received much praise, and five thousand dollars in United States currency. Yet, curiously enough, those two tao did not go back to the unnamed village whence they had come; but instead made their way to a house in the suburbs, where, that same evening, they were joined by Senor de Vega and all the six witnesses, and the five thousand dollars were forthwith divided into nine parts. Then each man went on his way rejoicing, his pockets bulging with notes.

Up in the Palace, however, Commissioner Furber was almost unsafe to approach, though both the Governor-General and Commissioner Gumpertz were more than usually genial. A week later the position of affairs was somewhat different, for Basil Hayle had sent in a certain dispatch through Lieutenant Stott at Catarman. It ran:—

“The report of Felizardo’s death as having occurred some ten days ago is untrue. I have the best of reasons for knowing, as, only this morning, I received a communication from him, warning me that certain mestizos and natives of Manila had secured the head of a cousin of his own, who had recently died at Calocan, and that they were bringing this in with the idea of claiming the reward for his, Felizardo’s, head. I am sending this by special runner to Catarman, and trust it will reach you in time.”

When the secretary came in a few minutes later in answer to his chief’s bell, he found the Commissioner actually smiling. “Make copies of this letter, Jones,” he said—he had finished with mestizo secretaries—“and send one to each member of the Commission.”

At the next meeting of the Commission, the Governor-General brought up the subject. “It was rather an unfortunate proposal of yours, Commissioner Gumpertz. It is a pity that when you made it, you did not think of a contingency like this. We left it to you, as you will remember. Most unfortunate, throwing good money after bad; and, though we know, or think we know, the culprits, we should all look foolish if we were to prosecute. It is obvious we can accomplish nothing in this way; and though I do not think we should go as far as Commissioner Furber suggests, and make peace with Felizardo, I think that, for the time being at least, it would be wiser to suspend all operations, and only attack him if he leaves the mountains.”

And so, for a space, Felizardo was left alone.