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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



the: champion dancer from bangad (see page 232) 



Chico near Bontoc, we catch, now and 

 then, wind-borne musical notes, which 

 rise and die away again and again, but 

 gradually grow clearer. As we drop 

 down a final bit of steep trail and come 

 out on a flat-topped mountain shoulder, 

 they swell out triumphantly, ringing 

 harsh and clear, "ding-o, dmg-o, ding- 

 ding-ding-o" over and over again. There 

 is nothing soft and soothing about this 

 music. Its rhythm stirs one's pulse and 

 one's toes in a strange fashion. The 

 accompanying dance is a mans dance, 

 danced by men. They move forward in 

 single file. Each holds in his left hand 

 a gansa, which he beats with a carefully 

 fashioned skin-covered drumstick. The 



gansa handles are the 

 lower jaw-bones of hu- 

 man enemies, slain no 

 one knows how long 

 ago (see pages 223- 

 225). 



The perfectly devel- 

 oped brown bodies of 

 the dancers are naked 

 save for handsome blue 

 and scarlet clouts and 

 an occasional boar's 

 tusk arm ornament with 

 its horse-hair plume. 

 Not a man has an 

 ounce of superfluous 

 flesh. There is a beau- 

 tiful rippling play of 

 perfect muscles under 

 clear skin. The men 

 crouch slightly as they 

 dance. Their steps are 

 springing and panther- 

 like. As they advance, 

 pause, and retire, their 

 alignment is never bro- 

 ken and their move- 

 ments are executed in 

 perfect time. Take a 

 snap-shot at them with 

 a fast camera, develop 

 the plate, and you will 

 find that the positions 

 of the hands and feet 

 of any given dancer 

 correspond very closely 

 with those of every other. This is our 

 welcome to the land of the head-hunter. 

 As we come abreast the dancers, they 

 break ranks, crowd up to shake hands, 

 and then fall in behind us. 



An hour more and again we hear gansa 

 music. A sharp turn in the trail brings 

 into view a little level meadow just above 

 the brawling waters of the Rio Chico. 

 A mighty roar of sound greets us, the 

 full-lunged cry of a thousand Bontoc 

 Igorot headmen drawn up on the level 

 ground in two lines facing each other, 

 while half a dozen groups of dancers 

 beat gansas and add to the deafening 

 clamor. Here are gathered the best fight- 

 ing men from every little town in the 



