What Vic translated to me was to the effect that
it was out of the question for us to go on into the enemy's country,
which we should have reached in another two hours' walk. If we did
they would certainly kill us all by shooting arrows into us from the
long grass (in other words, we should fall into an ambush), and, in
fact, since they had killed some of this tribe they would kill anyone
that came into their country. By killing these men they had declared
war. This was the sum total of Vic's translation, and I saw at once
that it was out of the question for me to go on, as no Negrito would
go with me, and I could not go alone. In any case I should have been
killed. Vic told me that very few of these Buquils ever leave their
mountain valleys, and so most of them had never seen a Filipino, much
less a white man. And so I met with a very great disappointment, and
was forced to leave without proving whether or no the story of these
bearded women was a myth. Lately I heard a rumour that an American had
visited them and proved the story true. My disappointment may well be
imagined. I had come over the worst track I had ever travelled on in
spite of rain and fever, but I at once saw that all my labours were
in vain and that I could not surmount this last difficulty.
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