covered with creeping vines, formed a verdant wall on either side.
Our companions proved most entertaining. One had been a cattle ranger in Wyoming and the other hailed from New Mexico.
a You see,a said the tall, thin one, with his hand on his pistol, a these yere Moros are bad actors. They are supposed to be peaceful now, but every now and then one of a em breaks out wild, and cuts the boys up something fearful.a
This did not sound very reassuring, but no Moros peered out from the forest. Instead we saw bands of brown monkeys, playing happily in the trees, and one big gray fellow, known as the Mindanao Macaque.
It was nightfall when we dismounted at Torrey barracks, within sight of the Celebes Sea. We had made record time, twenty-six miles in five hours, not counting the distance we traveled up and down on those trotting cargo mules!
A MORO GRAVE.