man, the native who surprised and cut down the sentry being pointed
out to us the next day. Kiangan was celebrated in Spanish times,
and even more recently, as the home of some of the most desperate
head-hunters of the Archipelago. But, thanks to Gallman, head-hunting
in the Ifugao country is now a thing of the past.

The town stands on the top of a bastion-like terrace, thrust
avalanche-wise and immense between its pinnacled mountain walls;
the site is not only of great beauty, but of great natural strength,
like nearly all the other considerable settlements we saw on this
journey. The two mountain walls approach somewhat like the branches
of the letter V, having between them, near their intersection, as it
were, the natural bastion mentioned rising from the bed of the Ibilao
River, hundreds of feet below, and some thousands of yards distant. The
whole position is on a large generous scale; it would have appealed
to the ancient Greeks. And so, of course, we yet had some distance
to go, and now made our way through rice-paddies, echeloned on the
flanks of the spurs that came down to meet us. These rice-terraces
(_sementeras_), the first I had seen, at once excited my interest,
to the scorn of Pack, who bade me wait until we had come upon the
real thing: these were nothing. It turned out he was entirely right;
but I thought them remarkable, and anyway they were most refreshing
and cooling to look at, after our long hot ride. The sound of running
waters, the sight of the little runlets bubbling away for dear life, of
the tall rice swaying to the breeze, the acropolis before us with its
clumps of waving bamboos, of nodding bananas, and the soft afternoon
light over all, the combination made a picture that, will live in my
recollection. The impression immediately formed was that of a scene
of quiet peace and beauty, more or less rudely shocked the following
day. As we drew nearer and nearer we were welcomed by arches of bamboo