orientation.  Of course there must be some orographic system; but to mark it, we should have had to fly over the land.  To us on the trail it was not evident, mountain shouldering mountain, and valley swallowing valley, in confusion.  And wherever possible, rice-terraces!  If we posit the struggle for existence, then in this view alone these Ifugaos, and other highlanders as well, are a gallant people.  Not every hillside will grow rice; if the soil be good, water will be lacking; or else, having water, the soil is poor.  But, wherever the two conditions are combined, there will one find the slope terraced to the top, and scientifically terraced, too, so that every drop of water shall do its duty from top-side to bottom-side.  The labor of original construction, always severe, in some cases must have been enormous, as we shall see later.  Many of these terraces are hundreds of years old; their maintenance has required and continues to require constant watchfulness.  Nearly every year the supply of rice runs short and the people fall back on camotes (sweet potatoes).  And yet, in marked contrast with their cousins of the plains, whom these conditions would drive to helpless despair, we heard on this trip not one word of complaint.  Not once did they put up a poor mouth and beg the Government to come to their help.  On the contrary, they were cheerful throughout, knowing though they did that before the year was over they would probably all have to pull their gee-strings in a little tighter.  It is not too much, therefore, to say that these highlanders are in a true sense a gallant people.  Indeed, they are the best people of the Archipelago, and with any sort of chance they will prove it.  This chance our Government, thanks to Mr. Worcester’s initiative and sustained interest, is giving them, the first and only one they ever have had.

This digression brings us a little nearer to Banawe; we leave the terraced hills behind us, after noting how free of all plants the retaining-walls are kept, the sole exception here and there being the dongola, with its brilliant leaf of lustrous scarlet.

In time we began to descend, and finally there burst on the view the sharpest valley yet, as though some Almighty Power had split the mountains apart with a titanic ax.  Down one flank we went with Banawe near the head, but farther off than we thought, because the trail was now filled with men that had come out to welcome us, all of whom insisted on shaking hands with all the apos.  Our last three miles were a triumphal procession—­columns, gansas, bubud, spears, shouts, escorts, flags.  Every now and then a halt; a bamboo filled with bubud would be handed up, and everybody had to take a pull.  Once I noticed Gallman in front hastily return the bamboo, and reach desperately for his water-bottle; the next man did the same thing.  It was now my turn, and I understood; I tipped up the tube, and thought for the moment that I had filled my mouth with liquid fire, so hot was the stuff!  If there had ever been any rice in the original composition, it had completely lost its identity in the fearful excess of pepper that characterized this particular vintage.  It was hours and hours before our throats forgave us.