noon
`` Listen ! '' he exclaimed , intent , his hand on Terry 's shoulder . In a moment another agong , somewhere close to the south , sounded several times , then another further away , then another , another . Soon the noon stillness of the brush pulsed with the mystic multi-tones of scores of far agongs rung from plantations . Slowly the murmur grew as hundreds of agongs rung by Bogobos in the foothills took up the signal , flooding the hemplands with a glad , bronze chorus . Sears gripped Terry 's shoulder hard , his eyes brimming . `` That 's the signal we fixed up , '' he said .