Chapter Fifty Three.

Chapter Fifty Three.Private Sim is very Wide Awake.Lieutenant Johnson had said that in all probability Ali had been killed, this being of course his surmise, for he had no real reason for such an assertion. He was quite right, though, about having been tricked, for one of Rajah Gantang’s cleverest spies after hearing from his hiding-place the plans that had been made, assumed the part of Ali in disguise, and passed unchallenged by the sentries to go straight to the rajah and plan with him a way to divide the forces by sending the steamer upon a false scent.This had been done, with the success that has been seen. But though the little garrison was awakened to a sense of its danger very soon after the steamer had taken its departure, it did not realise the fact that they had all been deceived.All the requisite precautions had been taken, and saving the guard, the little garrison had lain down to sleep, according to Captain Smithers’ instructions, for he had addressed them before they were dismissed.“There may be no danger,” he had said, “but we must be on the alert, so let every man lie down in his clothes, with his arms close at hand. Sergeant Lund, see that the men’s pouches are supplied with cartridges. To-morrow, my lads, I hope to see the steamer back, with our rescued friends!”The men gave a cheer and departed. The guard was relieved, and Captain Smithers stood talking to Tom Long.“My dear lad,” said the former, “there is not the slightest need for any such proceeding. Go and lie down. I shall visit the sentries for the first half of the night, and I will call you about three.”“I don’t feel much disposed for sleep,” said Tom Long, who looked uneasy.“You are not well. The heat has overdone you a little. You go and have a good sleep,” said the captain. “To-morrow I hope we shall have the doctor back among us to set us right.”“I hope so, too,” said Tom Long, gloomily; and going to his quarters he lay down, with his sword and revolver beside him, ready for use.Adam Gray was off duty, and he, too, had gone to lie down. But he could not sleep, neither did he wish to do anything else but lie there and think about Rachel Linton, and how pale and unhappy she appeared. He longed to speak words of comfort to her, and to say others as well; but he dared not, for his position forbade it. Still he could not help feeling that she did not look unkindly upon him, nor seem to consider him to be one of the ordinary soldiers.He sighed as he thought of other days, and then lay listening to the humming noise made by the mosquitoes—wondered whether Rachel Linton was asleep or awake—whether, if she was awake, she was thinking of him.Then he drove away the thoughts with an angry exclamation, and determined to think about her no more. But as he turned his face to the open window, and listened to the faint hum of the night insects, Rachel Linton’s face came back, and he was thinking of her again, and this time in connection with Captain Smithers.He knew the captain loved her, and instinctively hated him—Private Gray. He felt, too, that by some means or another the captain knew of, and hated him for, his presumptuous love; the more so that Rachel Linton did not seem to care in the slightest degree for the captain’s advances, but rather avoided him.Private Gray turned again and again, but he could not lie there any longer for the uneasy feeling that tormented him.The men in the long room slept easily enough, but he could not, and he told himself that he might just as well get up and go and watch with one of the sentries, for then he would be doing something towards protecting the station.He rose then softly, and fastening on his belt with the bayonet attached, he went cautiously out into the night air, to see that though the stars twinkled brightly, the night was very dark. All was perfectly still, and as he went cautiously round every man seemed to be on the watch, when suddenly a thought struck him which sent a cold shiver through his breast.He was standing just beneath the window of the officers’ quarters, where he knew that Rachel Linton and her cousin would be sleeping, and the sentry nearest, the man who should be on the keenest watch, was, if he was not mistaken, Private Sim.He could not make out for certain from where he stood, but he felt almost certain that this was the case, and that Sim was occupying the most important outpost of the little fort.With his heart beating wildly he crept back to the place where the men lay asleep, and going on tiptoe from one to the other, he satisfied himself by the dim light of the lamp swinging from the roof that Private Sim was not there.“It was utter madness,” he muttered to himself. “Lund should have known,” and in his excitement he recalled to mind the night when he had found him asleep.He remembered, too, what a fearful night that was, and he felt that this might prove to be just as dangerous, as he hurried back, catching up his rifle and pouch as he went, and then going quietly along to where Private Sim was stationed.It was undoubtedly the weakest spot about the fort, and in place of one untrustworthy man, two of the most trusty should have been stationed there. By some error of judgment, however, this was not done, and Private Sim held the lives of all in the little fort within his hand.Gray thought that after all he might be misjudging him, and therefore he went on cautiously, listening as he stopped from time to time, and expecting to be challenged; but there was no sound to be heard, and as Gray went closer it seemed to him as if no sentry had been placed there. But as he went nearer there was no error of judgment upon his part. It was as he suspected. Private Sim was seated on the ground, his rifle across his lap, fast asleep, and quite oblivious of the fact that his messmate stood close beside him, panting with rage and disgust.“You scoundrel!” he cried in a low, passionate voice. “Do you not know that the punishment may be death for sleeping at a time like this?”As he spoke he struck the sleeper heavily upon the head with the butt of his rifle, and Sim started up and grappled with him, just as a dozen Malays sprang out of the darkness, and made at the defence between them.The struggle between the two was but brief, for Gray threw Sim off, and brought his bayonet to bear against the Malays, forgetting in his excitement to load and fire, so that it was Sim’s rifle that gave the alarm.For the next few minutes the two men fought side by side, their bayonets keeping the Malays back every time they strove to enter the place, and driving them off successfully till help came, and two or three volleys did the rest.“How was this? How did it happen that you did not see the enemy approaching sooner, Private Sim?” said Captain Smithers, sternly.Sim trembled for his life, knowing as he did that over matters of discipline the captain was a stern man, and that he must expect no mercy for his fault if Gray spoke out, and told all he knew; so he exclaimed hastily, and with a malicious look at Gray,—“How could I, sir, when there are traitors in the camp?”“Traitors! What do you mean?”“I mean a traitor, sir! Private Gray there came up behind me, leaped upon me, and held his hand over my mouth to keep me still, while he whistled to the Malays to come in by the opening, there.”“You lying—”“Silence, Private Gray!” cried Captain Smithers, and all that was evil in his nature came to the surface, as he felt that here was an opportunity for disgracing, if not putting his rival to death; and a strange feeling of savage joy animated him for the moment. “Silence, Private Gray!” he cried. “Speak out, Private Sim. Do you mean to assert that this man served you as you say?”“Look at me, sir!” cried Sim, showing his disordered uniform. “That was done in the struggle; and I did not fire as soon as I could have wished.”“Show me your rifle, Sim,” said the captain.Sim held out his piece, while, choking with rage and astonishment, Gray stood speechless in their midst.The piece was examined, and it had just been discharged.“Show me your piece, Gray,” said Captain Smithers.Gray held it out, and it was quite clean. It was not loaded, and it had not lately been discharged.“I tried as hard as I could, captain!” whined Sim; “but he came upon me so sudden like, that I was mastered at once.”“What were you doing there, Gray? You were not on duty. Your place was in bed.”“I could not sleep, sir,” said Gray. “I doubted this man, and I came to see.”“Why, you jumped right on me, sudden like, out of the darkness!” said Sim.“Silence, Sim!” said the Captain. “Gray, this charge must be investigated. You are under arrest. Sergeant, put this man in irons!”“But, Captain—”“Silence, sir! You can make your defence when you are tried by court-martial.”“I hope, captain,” whined Sim, “that it won’t be my doing as he’s punished. I’d a deal rather help a fellow than get him into trouble.”“You are on duty, sir! Attend to your post!” cried Captain Smithers.He turned angrily then on Private Gray, who was so cruelly mortified, especially as, glancing upward, he saw the window was open, and Rachel Linton and her cousin there, that he could not or would not speak a word in his defence. He gave Sim a look that made that scoundrel shiver, and then said to himself:“She will not believe that I am a traitor!”He glanced involuntarily upwards as this thought occurred to him, and the captain ground his teeth with rage as he saw the glance; but feeling as he did that he had his rival beneath his heel, a glow of triumph ran through him.The next moment, though, all that was gentlemanly and true came to the surface, and he felt that Private Gray was not the man who could be guilty of such a crime. Sim must be the offending party, and Gray be too proud to speak. He could not iron him, or doubt his honour; he was too true a man; and as Sergeant Lund unwillingly came forward with a file of men, the captain motioned him back.“This is no time for making prisoners,” he said. “Sergeant, change the sentry here. Place two men on guard. Private Sim, go to the guard-room: I may want to question you. Private Gray, this is an awful charge against you, and if you are guilty you will be shot.”There was a faint sound as of some one’s breath catching at the window above, but it was heard by Captain Smithers and Private Gray alone as they stood face to face.“I know it, captain!” said Gray, quietly.“We are in face of the enemy,” continued Captain Smithers. “Take your rifle again, and help to defend the place. You had better die by the spear of a Malay. Go to the guard-room now; and mind, if any words pass between you and Private Sim—”“Quick, sir, the alarm!” cried Gray, pointing out beneath the stars. “The enemy!”“Fire, sentry!” cried Captain Smithers; and the report of a rifle rang out on the still night air, for the Malays were advancing in force.Fresh shots were fired on all sides as the men turned out, and were at their various places in a very few moments, the wisdom of the captain’s commands being manifest; and as he saw Private Gray go down on one knee and begin firing, with careful aim, at the advancing enemy,—“He’s no traitor,” he muttered; “and I never doubted him at heart.”He had no time for further thought, for the attack had become general, and the Malays seemed furious, striving hard to gain an entry, but always encountering one or two bayonets at every point, till, after half an hour’s fierce struggle, they drew back, leaving a number of dead and wounded around the place.The defenders of the little fort drew breath at this, and as the firing ceased, the major’s wife, with Rachel Linton and her cousin, came round, first with refreshments for the exhausted men, and, as soon as they were distributed, began to bandage those who were wounded.It was while they were busy over this task, that in the darkness Rachel Linton came upon a man leaning against the breast-work, gazing attentively out at the position of the enemy.“Are you wounded?” she asked; and at her words Private Gray started round and faced her.“Only slightly,” he said, “in body—but deeply in spirit.”“Let me bind your wound,” said Rachel Linton, hoarsely, and her voice trembled as she spoke.“Which?” he said bitterly, as they stood alone.“Let me bind your arm,” she said quietly now, as she drew a long breath.“It is but a scratch,” he said carelessly, “a spear thrust.”Without another word Rachel Linton slit open the sleeve of the jacket he wore, and deftly bandaged the double wound, for the thrust had gone right through Gray’s arm. Then rising, she stood before him for a moment or two.“You asked which wound would I bind up, Adam Gray,” she said sadly. “I have bound up one. If my words will help to bind up the other, let me tell you that I do not believe the foul charge made against you.”The rifle fell against Gray’s wounded arm as he caught the speaker’s hand in his, and raised it to his lips.“You have done more,” he said; “you have healed it.”For the next few moments he stood there as if holding the hand in his, though Rachel Linton had hurried away. Then he started, for he became aware that Tom Long had seen what had taken place, and was now standing leaning on his sword. But he did not speak, he only turned away, leaving Gray watching, and thinking hopefully now of the charge he had to meet.“Smithers is a gentleman,” he said to himself; “they cannot shoot me for what I have not done.”Then he began to wonder how the steamer had sped, and how soon they would bring back their friends. This was the more important, as he felt sure that a few such determined efforts on the Malay’s part, and the little garrison must succumb.“He is a brave young fellow, that Ali,” he thought, “and has managed well.”Then he stood gazing out over the dark ground in front, where here and there he could make out the dimly seen form of some unfortunate combatant, who had not been carried off by his friends.It was darker now than ever, and he was silently watching for danger, when a faint rustling noise caught his ear, and he brought his piece down to the present, for undoubtedly one of the bodies lying on the dark earth was in motion, and crawling slowly towards where he stood.

Lieutenant Johnson had said that in all probability Ali had been killed, this being of course his surmise, for he had no real reason for such an assertion. He was quite right, though, about having been tricked, for one of Rajah Gantang’s cleverest spies after hearing from his hiding-place the plans that had been made, assumed the part of Ali in disguise, and passed unchallenged by the sentries to go straight to the rajah and plan with him a way to divide the forces by sending the steamer upon a false scent.

This had been done, with the success that has been seen. But though the little garrison was awakened to a sense of its danger very soon after the steamer had taken its departure, it did not realise the fact that they had all been deceived.

All the requisite precautions had been taken, and saving the guard, the little garrison had lain down to sleep, according to Captain Smithers’ instructions, for he had addressed them before they were dismissed.

“There may be no danger,” he had said, “but we must be on the alert, so let every man lie down in his clothes, with his arms close at hand. Sergeant Lund, see that the men’s pouches are supplied with cartridges. To-morrow, my lads, I hope to see the steamer back, with our rescued friends!”

The men gave a cheer and departed. The guard was relieved, and Captain Smithers stood talking to Tom Long.

“My dear lad,” said the former, “there is not the slightest need for any such proceeding. Go and lie down. I shall visit the sentries for the first half of the night, and I will call you about three.”

“I don’t feel much disposed for sleep,” said Tom Long, who looked uneasy.

“You are not well. The heat has overdone you a little. You go and have a good sleep,” said the captain. “To-morrow I hope we shall have the doctor back among us to set us right.”

“I hope so, too,” said Tom Long, gloomily; and going to his quarters he lay down, with his sword and revolver beside him, ready for use.

Adam Gray was off duty, and he, too, had gone to lie down. But he could not sleep, neither did he wish to do anything else but lie there and think about Rachel Linton, and how pale and unhappy she appeared. He longed to speak words of comfort to her, and to say others as well; but he dared not, for his position forbade it. Still he could not help feeling that she did not look unkindly upon him, nor seem to consider him to be one of the ordinary soldiers.

He sighed as he thought of other days, and then lay listening to the humming noise made by the mosquitoes—wondered whether Rachel Linton was asleep or awake—whether, if she was awake, she was thinking of him.

Then he drove away the thoughts with an angry exclamation, and determined to think about her no more. But as he turned his face to the open window, and listened to the faint hum of the night insects, Rachel Linton’s face came back, and he was thinking of her again, and this time in connection with Captain Smithers.

He knew the captain loved her, and instinctively hated him—Private Gray. He felt, too, that by some means or another the captain knew of, and hated him for, his presumptuous love; the more so that Rachel Linton did not seem to care in the slightest degree for the captain’s advances, but rather avoided him.

Private Gray turned again and again, but he could not lie there any longer for the uneasy feeling that tormented him.

The men in the long room slept easily enough, but he could not, and he told himself that he might just as well get up and go and watch with one of the sentries, for then he would be doing something towards protecting the station.

He rose then softly, and fastening on his belt with the bayonet attached, he went cautiously out into the night air, to see that though the stars twinkled brightly, the night was very dark. All was perfectly still, and as he went cautiously round every man seemed to be on the watch, when suddenly a thought struck him which sent a cold shiver through his breast.

He was standing just beneath the window of the officers’ quarters, where he knew that Rachel Linton and her cousin would be sleeping, and the sentry nearest, the man who should be on the keenest watch, was, if he was not mistaken, Private Sim.

He could not make out for certain from where he stood, but he felt almost certain that this was the case, and that Sim was occupying the most important outpost of the little fort.

With his heart beating wildly he crept back to the place where the men lay asleep, and going on tiptoe from one to the other, he satisfied himself by the dim light of the lamp swinging from the roof that Private Sim was not there.

“It was utter madness,” he muttered to himself. “Lund should have known,” and in his excitement he recalled to mind the night when he had found him asleep.

He remembered, too, what a fearful night that was, and he felt that this might prove to be just as dangerous, as he hurried back, catching up his rifle and pouch as he went, and then going quietly along to where Private Sim was stationed.

It was undoubtedly the weakest spot about the fort, and in place of one untrustworthy man, two of the most trusty should have been stationed there. By some error of judgment, however, this was not done, and Private Sim held the lives of all in the little fort within his hand.

Gray thought that after all he might be misjudging him, and therefore he went on cautiously, listening as he stopped from time to time, and expecting to be challenged; but there was no sound to be heard, and as Gray went closer it seemed to him as if no sentry had been placed there. But as he went nearer there was no error of judgment upon his part. It was as he suspected. Private Sim was seated on the ground, his rifle across his lap, fast asleep, and quite oblivious of the fact that his messmate stood close beside him, panting with rage and disgust.

“You scoundrel!” he cried in a low, passionate voice. “Do you not know that the punishment may be death for sleeping at a time like this?”

As he spoke he struck the sleeper heavily upon the head with the butt of his rifle, and Sim started up and grappled with him, just as a dozen Malays sprang out of the darkness, and made at the defence between them.

The struggle between the two was but brief, for Gray threw Sim off, and brought his bayonet to bear against the Malays, forgetting in his excitement to load and fire, so that it was Sim’s rifle that gave the alarm.

For the next few minutes the two men fought side by side, their bayonets keeping the Malays back every time they strove to enter the place, and driving them off successfully till help came, and two or three volleys did the rest.

“How was this? How did it happen that you did not see the enemy approaching sooner, Private Sim?” said Captain Smithers, sternly.

Sim trembled for his life, knowing as he did that over matters of discipline the captain was a stern man, and that he must expect no mercy for his fault if Gray spoke out, and told all he knew; so he exclaimed hastily, and with a malicious look at Gray,—

“How could I, sir, when there are traitors in the camp?”

“Traitors! What do you mean?”

“I mean a traitor, sir! Private Gray there came up behind me, leaped upon me, and held his hand over my mouth to keep me still, while he whistled to the Malays to come in by the opening, there.”

“You lying—”

“Silence, Private Gray!” cried Captain Smithers, and all that was evil in his nature came to the surface, as he felt that here was an opportunity for disgracing, if not putting his rival to death; and a strange feeling of savage joy animated him for the moment. “Silence, Private Gray!” he cried. “Speak out, Private Sim. Do you mean to assert that this man served you as you say?”

“Look at me, sir!” cried Sim, showing his disordered uniform. “That was done in the struggle; and I did not fire as soon as I could have wished.”

“Show me your rifle, Sim,” said the captain.

Sim held out his piece, while, choking with rage and astonishment, Gray stood speechless in their midst.

The piece was examined, and it had just been discharged.

“Show me your piece, Gray,” said Captain Smithers.

Gray held it out, and it was quite clean. It was not loaded, and it had not lately been discharged.

“I tried as hard as I could, captain!” whined Sim; “but he came upon me so sudden like, that I was mastered at once.”

“What were you doing there, Gray? You were not on duty. Your place was in bed.”

“I could not sleep, sir,” said Gray. “I doubted this man, and I came to see.”

“Why, you jumped right on me, sudden like, out of the darkness!” said Sim.

“Silence, Sim!” said the Captain. “Gray, this charge must be investigated. You are under arrest. Sergeant, put this man in irons!”

“But, Captain—”

“Silence, sir! You can make your defence when you are tried by court-martial.”

“I hope, captain,” whined Sim, “that it won’t be my doing as he’s punished. I’d a deal rather help a fellow than get him into trouble.”

“You are on duty, sir! Attend to your post!” cried Captain Smithers.

He turned angrily then on Private Gray, who was so cruelly mortified, especially as, glancing upward, he saw the window was open, and Rachel Linton and her cousin there, that he could not or would not speak a word in his defence. He gave Sim a look that made that scoundrel shiver, and then said to himself:

“She will not believe that I am a traitor!”

He glanced involuntarily upwards as this thought occurred to him, and the captain ground his teeth with rage as he saw the glance; but feeling as he did that he had his rival beneath his heel, a glow of triumph ran through him.

The next moment, though, all that was gentlemanly and true came to the surface, and he felt that Private Gray was not the man who could be guilty of such a crime. Sim must be the offending party, and Gray be too proud to speak. He could not iron him, or doubt his honour; he was too true a man; and as Sergeant Lund unwillingly came forward with a file of men, the captain motioned him back.

“This is no time for making prisoners,” he said. “Sergeant, change the sentry here. Place two men on guard. Private Sim, go to the guard-room: I may want to question you. Private Gray, this is an awful charge against you, and if you are guilty you will be shot.”

There was a faint sound as of some one’s breath catching at the window above, but it was heard by Captain Smithers and Private Gray alone as they stood face to face.

“I know it, captain!” said Gray, quietly.

“We are in face of the enemy,” continued Captain Smithers. “Take your rifle again, and help to defend the place. You had better die by the spear of a Malay. Go to the guard-room now; and mind, if any words pass between you and Private Sim—”

“Quick, sir, the alarm!” cried Gray, pointing out beneath the stars. “The enemy!”

“Fire, sentry!” cried Captain Smithers; and the report of a rifle rang out on the still night air, for the Malays were advancing in force.

Fresh shots were fired on all sides as the men turned out, and were at their various places in a very few moments, the wisdom of the captain’s commands being manifest; and as he saw Private Gray go down on one knee and begin firing, with careful aim, at the advancing enemy,—“He’s no traitor,” he muttered; “and I never doubted him at heart.”

He had no time for further thought, for the attack had become general, and the Malays seemed furious, striving hard to gain an entry, but always encountering one or two bayonets at every point, till, after half an hour’s fierce struggle, they drew back, leaving a number of dead and wounded around the place.

The defenders of the little fort drew breath at this, and as the firing ceased, the major’s wife, with Rachel Linton and her cousin, came round, first with refreshments for the exhausted men, and, as soon as they were distributed, began to bandage those who were wounded.

It was while they were busy over this task, that in the darkness Rachel Linton came upon a man leaning against the breast-work, gazing attentively out at the position of the enemy.

“Are you wounded?” she asked; and at her words Private Gray started round and faced her.

“Only slightly,” he said, “in body—but deeply in spirit.”

“Let me bind your wound,” said Rachel Linton, hoarsely, and her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Which?” he said bitterly, as they stood alone.

“Let me bind your arm,” she said quietly now, as she drew a long breath.

“It is but a scratch,” he said carelessly, “a spear thrust.”

Without another word Rachel Linton slit open the sleeve of the jacket he wore, and deftly bandaged the double wound, for the thrust had gone right through Gray’s arm. Then rising, she stood before him for a moment or two.

“You asked which wound would I bind up, Adam Gray,” she said sadly. “I have bound up one. If my words will help to bind up the other, let me tell you that I do not believe the foul charge made against you.”

The rifle fell against Gray’s wounded arm as he caught the speaker’s hand in his, and raised it to his lips.

“You have done more,” he said; “you have healed it.”

For the next few moments he stood there as if holding the hand in his, though Rachel Linton had hurried away. Then he started, for he became aware that Tom Long had seen what had taken place, and was now standing leaning on his sword. But he did not speak, he only turned away, leaving Gray watching, and thinking hopefully now of the charge he had to meet.

“Smithers is a gentleman,” he said to himself; “they cannot shoot me for what I have not done.”

Then he began to wonder how the steamer had sped, and how soon they would bring back their friends. This was the more important, as he felt sure that a few such determined efforts on the Malay’s part, and the little garrison must succumb.

“He is a brave young fellow, that Ali,” he thought, “and has managed well.”

Then he stood gazing out over the dark ground in front, where here and there he could make out the dimly seen form of some unfortunate combatant, who had not been carried off by his friends.

It was darker now than ever, and he was silently watching for danger, when a faint rustling noise caught his ear, and he brought his piece down to the present, for undoubtedly one of the bodies lying on the dark earth was in motion, and crawling slowly towards where he stood.

Chapter Fifty Four.The End of Ali’s Mission.Adam Gray’s finger was on the trigger of his piece, but he did not fire, though he carefully covered the figure before him, and watched attentively to make sure that it was no hallucination.He had marked that figure before; one that lay face downwards, apparently just as the man had fallen from a shot. And now the dimly seen arms had changed positions—there was no doubt of that—and the figure was crawling forward.What did it mean? Either it was a poor wounded wretch, striving hard to get relief and help, or else it was a trick on the part of a treacherous Malay, who was trying to put in force a North American Indian’s tactics, and creeping forward to stab a sentry.“And so gain an entrance into the fort,” thought Adam Gray. “Well, my poor wretch, you will not do it, unless both my rifle ball and bayonet should miss.”Just then the figure stopped, and lay quite motionless; and again Gray hesitated, feeling sure that he must have been deceived, as he gazed now at the figure where it lay, some twenty yards away.There it was, perfectly motionless, and in that darkness Gray felt that he really could not be sure about it. After all, the figure might be lying where it had first lain. It was impossible to say.His doubts were dispelled the next moment, for the figure was once more in motion, and stopped short as the lock of the sentry’s rifle clicked.“Don’t shoot!” said a voice in English; “I am a friend.”“If you move again, I fire!” said Gray in a low, stern voice. “Who are you?”“Is that Private Gray?” said the voice.“Mr Ali, is that you?” cried Gray, leaning towards him.“Yes, it is I,” said the figure, crawling rapidly towards him.“What are you doing with the enemy?”“Trying to make my way to you. They will not see now. Give me your hand, and I will climb up.”Gray leaned out over the breast-work, gave his hand to the young man, and, with a little exercise of his muscular strength, half-drew, half-aided him to climb into the stronghold—just as Captain Smithers and Tom Long leaped upon them, seizing each his man, and holding his sword to his throat.“You doubly-dyed scoundrel!” cried Captain Smithers. “Caught him in the act! Call the guard there!”“Don’t you know me, Long?” said a voice that made Tom lower his sword point.“Ali!” cried Captain Smithers; “you here?”“Yes, I am back,” said the young man sadly.“Gray, my good fellow,” cried Captain Smithers, “fate seems to have ordained that I should doubt you.”“Fate is sometimes very cruel to us all, sir,” said Gray, coldly, as the captain set him free, and turned to Ali.“You found them, then?”“No,” said Ali, sadly.“But the stockade?”“What stockade?”“Where you found them. The steamer went off early in the night.”“The steamer went off? Where?”“Don’t waste time, man, in puzzles,” cried the captain, excitedly, as he felt that something was wrong. “You sent a messenger?”“I sent no messenger,” said Ali, excitedly.“Yes, yes; the man with the writing in a bamboo?”“I sent no man,” said Ali, sadly. “You have been cheated—over-reached by your enemies.”“But did you not find them?”“No, I was hemmed-in at every turn; and at last, in despair I have crawled back here, hardly saving my life, your sentries are so keen.”“This is dreadful,” said Captain Smithers. “How we have been deluded!”He took a few steps to and fro, and then paused before Ali, gazing at him searchingly.“Sir,” he said, “we are each of different nations, and your people are at war with mine. Why should I trust you? why should I believe in your words? How do I know that I am not talking to one who believes it to be a virtue to slay people of my creed?”Ali looked at him wonderingly for a few moments before he spoke, slowly,—“Because you know that I am honest,” he said; “and if I am not, you have your resource there. Kill me.”Captain Smithers resumed his agitated walk to and fro.“This is dreadful!” he said, excitedly. “Those poor fellows have been inveigled away like the hunting-party, and perhaps by this time there is a second massacre.”“I think you exaggerate,” said Ali, quietly. “The hunting-party have been led away by a ruse, and the steamer sent upon an errand by a clever trick. But Captain Horton and Major Sandars are not men to give up the lives of their following without a bitter struggle. And as for Lieutenant Johnson—”“And Mr Roberts,” interposed Tom Long.“Yes, with Mr Roberts,” said Ali, “he is too strong in guns and men to be easily overcome, unless by—”“Treachery? Yes,” said the captain. “And that is what I dread.”“To such an extent,” said Ali, with a quiet smile, “that you doubt your friends.”“For the moment only,” said Captain Smithers, holding out his hand, which the other frankly grasped. “You must remember—my position, sir.”“I do,” said Ali. “Now give me a rifle and revolver; we may be attacked at any moment.”“We?” said Tom Long holding out his hand.“Yes,” said Ali, smiling; “and if we get safely through this trouble you will have to try and make me more of an Englishman than I am.”Even while he was speaking the Malays renewed their attack with the greatest pertinacity, it being evident that their object was to capture the fort before the steamer could render help. They seemed to be roused to a pitch of mad fury by the resistance they encountered and their losses, attacking with such determination that it needed no words on Captain Smithers’ part to warn his little garrison that they must fight to the death.With a civilised enemy it would have been quite reasonable to have surrendered long ago, but with such a foe as Rajah Gantang, a pirate of the worst Malay type, such an act as surrender would have meant giving all up to a horrible death.Never was daylight more welcome than when it appeared to the defenders of that little stronghold, who, gaunt, haggard, and faint with exertion, saw the sky suddenly turn to orange and gold; and then the sun rose over the widespread jungle, sending the wreathing night-mists floating amidst the feathery palms, and seeming to dissolve into thin air.The first order given by Captain Smithers was to have a signal of distress run up to the top of the flagstaff; the next to try and strengthen the defences, which were sorely dilapidated. Some of the barricading planks and forms were torn down, others riddled with bullets.Through the rough straw mattresses spears were sticking in a dozen directions, and what had looked hopeless again and again during the night seemed doubly so by day.But Captain Smithers was not made of the stuff to give up. He had those under his charge whom he was ready to render his life to save; and the spirit that animated his breast seemed to infuse itself in the spirits of the others. He was half mad with jealousy; and angered almost beyond bearing at the thought that Rachel Linton should favour, as he was sure now that she did, a private soldier in preference to him. But he cast away all narrow selfishness, for he was obliged to confess that Gray was no common man, but evidently a gentleman by education if not by birth.Casting aside, then, all unworthy thoughts, he roused Tom Long from a short sleep that he had made him take. He said a few encouraging words to the men, and then went to join the ladies, who had anticipated his wishes, and were ready with plenty of refreshments for the jaded defenders of the fort.It is wonderful what efficacy there is in a cup of hot coffee and a big biscuit. Men who, ten minutes before, had stood rifle in hand, dejected and utterly worn-out, lost their haggard looks and seemed to pull themselves together after partaking of the cup of comfort that the ladies brought round.Rifles were wiped out, belts tightened; and with brightening eyes the men seemed ready to give a good account of the enemy when they closed in for their next attack.“I have bad news for you, Captain Smithers,” said Rachel Linton to him, quietly, as she took the cup she had given him from his hands.“I don’t think you can give me worse news than I already know,” he said, sadly.“Yes, but I can,” she said, with her brows knitting with pain for his suffering. “The heat of the day will soon be upon us, and we have no more water.”These words roused the captain to a less selfish view of things, and he stood for a moment or two thinking. It was indeed a tantalising position, for, glittering and sparkling in the sun, there before them flowed the bright river, no drop of whose waters could be reached on account of the thronging enemy.“I will see to it at once,” he said, quietly; and as Miss Linton left him, Tom Long came up.“We must have a well dug at once,” he said. “Take charge here, Long, while I pick out a place.”Ensign Long assumed the command, but now without any of his old consequential airs. Adversity was taming him down, and to his surprise he found himself talking in a very different tone to his men, who yielded a readier obedience than of old.Captain Smithers was not long in selecting a place for the well, and in a very few minutes a squad of men were at work, some digging, others bearing off the earth in baskets to pile up in front of weak places and add to their strength.It was a hard call upon the men, that digging; but even while they worked the demand for water arose, and they slaved at their task, knowing the tortures that waited them should they not succeed.Every man worked in turn, except those badly wounded, though even some of those carried away the baskets of earth.Among others, Private Gray was ready to aid in this way, after vainly trying to handle a spade, a task rendered impossible by his wound. He was hard at work over his work, carrying basketful after basketful with one hand, when Captain Smithers came up, saw how he was striving, and stood looking on for a few moments.“We shall have to put off your court-martial yet, Gray,” he said grimly. “Give me that basket. Sit down awhile.”Gray was ready to resist, but his officer’s words were law, and sitting down to rest, and wipe the streaming perspiration from his face, he watched his captain slave away at the toil with the others, for in those perilous times show and uniforms were forgotten.It proved to be a harder task than had been anticipated. Captain Smithers had expected to find the subsoil of the island all soft alluvial earth, in which, from the neighbourhood of the river, there would be an abundance of water. It had never occurred to him that if the island had been of soft earth it would long before have been washed away. It was found to be rock at a short distance down, composed of a soft limestone, through which they had to chip their well.A dozen times over alarms of attack—some real, some false—were given, when spade, pick, and basket had to be laid on one side, and rifles seized. The attack repelled, the fight for water was renewed; and to the intense delight of all, about ten feet down the pure life-giving element came gushing in a clear current from the rock.Meanwhile Ali’s eyes, which were more experienced in the ways of the enemy than those of his companions, read plainly enough that far from being damped by their ill-success they were preparing for a more general assault, and he confided his opinions to Tom Long.“I can’t see any difference,” said Tom Long, after a careful inspection through his glass. “They looked just like that every time they came on, and—ah! there are some more of them, though.”“More,” echoed Ali. “They are doubled in number. Look, too, at the way in which they are making bundles of reeds and canes.”“Well, let them,” said Tom Long; “our rifle bullets will go through those fast enough. If I were Smithers, I’d give them a good searching fire now, and let them know that our rifles make fine practice at a thousand yards’ distance. Those fellows are not six hundred.”“Better wait till every shot is more likely to tell,” replied Ali. “The bullets would of course go through those bundles of cane; but do you not see what they mean?”“No,” said Tom Long, quietly, “unless they mean to burn us out.”“That is what they do mean,” replied Ali. “And look! Quick! give the alarm! They are coming on at once!”“Let them,” said Tom Long, phlegmatically. “They won’t alarm us. Nice people your fellow-countrymen, Ali!”“Fellow-countrymen!” said the young Malay, scornfully. “My fellow-countrymen are gentlemen! These are the scourings of the country, with half the scoundrels from Borneo, Java, and Sumatra—men who have lived all their lives upon piracy and murder.”“Well, whatever they are,” said Tom Long, coolly, “they are coming on, so I may as well let the lads know. All right, though; every one is on the alert, and I daresay we can give a good account of them before they get back. Are you sure that these are all a bad lot?”“Sure?” cried Ali. “They are the scum of the east.”“Then we’ll skim them a little more,” said Tom Long. “Hi! sergeant, let me have a rifle and some cartridges; I think I should like to pot a few cut-throat pirates myself.”Sergeant Lund handed him the required rifle, Captain Smithers coming up at the moment, and as he swept the surroundings of the little fort with his glass his countenance changed a little, for grave as had been their position before, he felt now that unless help quickly came it was absolutely hopeless.

Adam Gray’s finger was on the trigger of his piece, but he did not fire, though he carefully covered the figure before him, and watched attentively to make sure that it was no hallucination.

He had marked that figure before; one that lay face downwards, apparently just as the man had fallen from a shot. And now the dimly seen arms had changed positions—there was no doubt of that—and the figure was crawling forward.

What did it mean? Either it was a poor wounded wretch, striving hard to get relief and help, or else it was a trick on the part of a treacherous Malay, who was trying to put in force a North American Indian’s tactics, and creeping forward to stab a sentry.

“And so gain an entrance into the fort,” thought Adam Gray. “Well, my poor wretch, you will not do it, unless both my rifle ball and bayonet should miss.”

Just then the figure stopped, and lay quite motionless; and again Gray hesitated, feeling sure that he must have been deceived, as he gazed now at the figure where it lay, some twenty yards away.

There it was, perfectly motionless, and in that darkness Gray felt that he really could not be sure about it. After all, the figure might be lying where it had first lain. It was impossible to say.

His doubts were dispelled the next moment, for the figure was once more in motion, and stopped short as the lock of the sentry’s rifle clicked.

“Don’t shoot!” said a voice in English; “I am a friend.”

“If you move again, I fire!” said Gray in a low, stern voice. “Who are you?”

“Is that Private Gray?” said the voice.

“Mr Ali, is that you?” cried Gray, leaning towards him.

“Yes, it is I,” said the figure, crawling rapidly towards him.

“What are you doing with the enemy?”

“Trying to make my way to you. They will not see now. Give me your hand, and I will climb up.”

Gray leaned out over the breast-work, gave his hand to the young man, and, with a little exercise of his muscular strength, half-drew, half-aided him to climb into the stronghold—just as Captain Smithers and Tom Long leaped upon them, seizing each his man, and holding his sword to his throat.

“You doubly-dyed scoundrel!” cried Captain Smithers. “Caught him in the act! Call the guard there!”

“Don’t you know me, Long?” said a voice that made Tom lower his sword point.

“Ali!” cried Captain Smithers; “you here?”

“Yes, I am back,” said the young man sadly.

“Gray, my good fellow,” cried Captain Smithers, “fate seems to have ordained that I should doubt you.”

“Fate is sometimes very cruel to us all, sir,” said Gray, coldly, as the captain set him free, and turned to Ali.

“You found them, then?”

“No,” said Ali, sadly.

“But the stockade?”

“What stockade?”

“Where you found them. The steamer went off early in the night.”

“The steamer went off? Where?”

“Don’t waste time, man, in puzzles,” cried the captain, excitedly, as he felt that something was wrong. “You sent a messenger?”

“I sent no messenger,” said Ali, excitedly.

“Yes, yes; the man with the writing in a bamboo?”

“I sent no man,” said Ali, sadly. “You have been cheated—over-reached by your enemies.”

“But did you not find them?”

“No, I was hemmed-in at every turn; and at last, in despair I have crawled back here, hardly saving my life, your sentries are so keen.”

“This is dreadful,” said Captain Smithers. “How we have been deluded!”

He took a few steps to and fro, and then paused before Ali, gazing at him searchingly.

“Sir,” he said, “we are each of different nations, and your people are at war with mine. Why should I trust you? why should I believe in your words? How do I know that I am not talking to one who believes it to be a virtue to slay people of my creed?”

Ali looked at him wonderingly for a few moments before he spoke, slowly,—

“Because you know that I am honest,” he said; “and if I am not, you have your resource there. Kill me.”

Captain Smithers resumed his agitated walk to and fro.

“This is dreadful!” he said, excitedly. “Those poor fellows have been inveigled away like the hunting-party, and perhaps by this time there is a second massacre.”

“I think you exaggerate,” said Ali, quietly. “The hunting-party have been led away by a ruse, and the steamer sent upon an errand by a clever trick. But Captain Horton and Major Sandars are not men to give up the lives of their following without a bitter struggle. And as for Lieutenant Johnson—”

“And Mr Roberts,” interposed Tom Long.

“Yes, with Mr Roberts,” said Ali, “he is too strong in guns and men to be easily overcome, unless by—”

“Treachery? Yes,” said the captain. “And that is what I dread.”

“To such an extent,” said Ali, with a quiet smile, “that you doubt your friends.”

“For the moment only,” said Captain Smithers, holding out his hand, which the other frankly grasped. “You must remember—my position, sir.”

“I do,” said Ali. “Now give me a rifle and revolver; we may be attacked at any moment.”

“We?” said Tom Long holding out his hand.

“Yes,” said Ali, smiling; “and if we get safely through this trouble you will have to try and make me more of an Englishman than I am.”

Even while he was speaking the Malays renewed their attack with the greatest pertinacity, it being evident that their object was to capture the fort before the steamer could render help. They seemed to be roused to a pitch of mad fury by the resistance they encountered and their losses, attacking with such determination that it needed no words on Captain Smithers’ part to warn his little garrison that they must fight to the death.

With a civilised enemy it would have been quite reasonable to have surrendered long ago, but with such a foe as Rajah Gantang, a pirate of the worst Malay type, such an act as surrender would have meant giving all up to a horrible death.

Never was daylight more welcome than when it appeared to the defenders of that little stronghold, who, gaunt, haggard, and faint with exertion, saw the sky suddenly turn to orange and gold; and then the sun rose over the widespread jungle, sending the wreathing night-mists floating amidst the feathery palms, and seeming to dissolve into thin air.

The first order given by Captain Smithers was to have a signal of distress run up to the top of the flagstaff; the next to try and strengthen the defences, which were sorely dilapidated. Some of the barricading planks and forms were torn down, others riddled with bullets.

Through the rough straw mattresses spears were sticking in a dozen directions, and what had looked hopeless again and again during the night seemed doubly so by day.

But Captain Smithers was not made of the stuff to give up. He had those under his charge whom he was ready to render his life to save; and the spirit that animated his breast seemed to infuse itself in the spirits of the others. He was half mad with jealousy; and angered almost beyond bearing at the thought that Rachel Linton should favour, as he was sure now that she did, a private soldier in preference to him. But he cast away all narrow selfishness, for he was obliged to confess that Gray was no common man, but evidently a gentleman by education if not by birth.

Casting aside, then, all unworthy thoughts, he roused Tom Long from a short sleep that he had made him take. He said a few encouraging words to the men, and then went to join the ladies, who had anticipated his wishes, and were ready with plenty of refreshments for the jaded defenders of the fort.

It is wonderful what efficacy there is in a cup of hot coffee and a big biscuit. Men who, ten minutes before, had stood rifle in hand, dejected and utterly worn-out, lost their haggard looks and seemed to pull themselves together after partaking of the cup of comfort that the ladies brought round.

Rifles were wiped out, belts tightened; and with brightening eyes the men seemed ready to give a good account of the enemy when they closed in for their next attack.

“I have bad news for you, Captain Smithers,” said Rachel Linton to him, quietly, as she took the cup she had given him from his hands.

“I don’t think you can give me worse news than I already know,” he said, sadly.

“Yes, but I can,” she said, with her brows knitting with pain for his suffering. “The heat of the day will soon be upon us, and we have no more water.”

These words roused the captain to a less selfish view of things, and he stood for a moment or two thinking. It was indeed a tantalising position, for, glittering and sparkling in the sun, there before them flowed the bright river, no drop of whose waters could be reached on account of the thronging enemy.

“I will see to it at once,” he said, quietly; and as Miss Linton left him, Tom Long came up.

“We must have a well dug at once,” he said. “Take charge here, Long, while I pick out a place.”

Ensign Long assumed the command, but now without any of his old consequential airs. Adversity was taming him down, and to his surprise he found himself talking in a very different tone to his men, who yielded a readier obedience than of old.

Captain Smithers was not long in selecting a place for the well, and in a very few minutes a squad of men were at work, some digging, others bearing off the earth in baskets to pile up in front of weak places and add to their strength.

It was a hard call upon the men, that digging; but even while they worked the demand for water arose, and they slaved at their task, knowing the tortures that waited them should they not succeed.

Every man worked in turn, except those badly wounded, though even some of those carried away the baskets of earth.

Among others, Private Gray was ready to aid in this way, after vainly trying to handle a spade, a task rendered impossible by his wound. He was hard at work over his work, carrying basketful after basketful with one hand, when Captain Smithers came up, saw how he was striving, and stood looking on for a few moments.

“We shall have to put off your court-martial yet, Gray,” he said grimly. “Give me that basket. Sit down awhile.”

Gray was ready to resist, but his officer’s words were law, and sitting down to rest, and wipe the streaming perspiration from his face, he watched his captain slave away at the toil with the others, for in those perilous times show and uniforms were forgotten.

It proved to be a harder task than had been anticipated. Captain Smithers had expected to find the subsoil of the island all soft alluvial earth, in which, from the neighbourhood of the river, there would be an abundance of water. It had never occurred to him that if the island had been of soft earth it would long before have been washed away. It was found to be rock at a short distance down, composed of a soft limestone, through which they had to chip their well.

A dozen times over alarms of attack—some real, some false—were given, when spade, pick, and basket had to be laid on one side, and rifles seized. The attack repelled, the fight for water was renewed; and to the intense delight of all, about ten feet down the pure life-giving element came gushing in a clear current from the rock.

Meanwhile Ali’s eyes, which were more experienced in the ways of the enemy than those of his companions, read plainly enough that far from being damped by their ill-success they were preparing for a more general assault, and he confided his opinions to Tom Long.

“I can’t see any difference,” said Tom Long, after a careful inspection through his glass. “They looked just like that every time they came on, and—ah! there are some more of them, though.”

“More,” echoed Ali. “They are doubled in number. Look, too, at the way in which they are making bundles of reeds and canes.”

“Well, let them,” said Tom Long; “our rifle bullets will go through those fast enough. If I were Smithers, I’d give them a good searching fire now, and let them know that our rifles make fine practice at a thousand yards’ distance. Those fellows are not six hundred.”

“Better wait till every shot is more likely to tell,” replied Ali. “The bullets would of course go through those bundles of cane; but do you not see what they mean?”

“No,” said Tom Long, quietly, “unless they mean to burn us out.”

“That is what they do mean,” replied Ali. “And look! Quick! give the alarm! They are coming on at once!”

“Let them,” said Tom Long, phlegmatically. “They won’t alarm us. Nice people your fellow-countrymen, Ali!”

“Fellow-countrymen!” said the young Malay, scornfully. “My fellow-countrymen are gentlemen! These are the scourings of the country, with half the scoundrels from Borneo, Java, and Sumatra—men who have lived all their lives upon piracy and murder.”

“Well, whatever they are,” said Tom Long, coolly, “they are coming on, so I may as well let the lads know. All right, though; every one is on the alert, and I daresay we can give a good account of them before they get back. Are you sure that these are all a bad lot?”

“Sure?” cried Ali. “They are the scum of the east.”

“Then we’ll skim them a little more,” said Tom Long. “Hi! sergeant, let me have a rifle and some cartridges; I think I should like to pot a few cut-throat pirates myself.”

Sergeant Lund handed him the required rifle, Captain Smithers coming up at the moment, and as he swept the surroundings of the little fort with his glass his countenance changed a little, for grave as had been their position before, he felt now that unless help quickly came it was absolutely hopeless.

Chapter Fifty Five.How the Hunting-Party fared.There was a thick mist hanging over the forest when the bugle rang out thereveille, and, some eagerly, some thinking rest the better thing, all the hunting-party began to gather outside their tents, where the best apologies for tubs and baths were provided for the officers.No sooner, however, did the Malays see this than they laughingly led the way to a little river, evidently a tributary of the Parang, and setting the example plunged into its deep, clear, cool waters, showing themselves to be adepts at swimming, and laughing to scorn the idea of there being any crocodiles there.The water was deliciously cool, and one and all the officers gladly availed themselves of the jungle bath, emerging fresh, and their nerves toned up ready for any work that was to fall to their lot that day.By the time they returned to the camp anal frescobreakfast was ready, half English, half Malay. There were tea and coffee, potted meats and sardines, and side by side with them, delicious Malay curries, made with fresh cocoa-nut, sambals of the most piquant nature, and fresh fish and blachang—that favourite preparation of putrid shrimps. Fruits were in abundance—plantains of various kinds, mangosteens, lychees, and durians smelling strong enough to drive away a dozen Tom Longs, had they been there. In short, the sultan had given orders that his cooks should do their best; similar instructions had been given by Captain Horton and Major Sandars; and the result was a breakfast fit for a prince—who could put up with a picnic and a camp-stool, beneath an umbrageous tree.“Whatever you gentlemen do,” said Doctor Bolter, “pray restrain your appetites. You see,” he said, taking his seat cross-legged, like the Malays, in front of a dish of blachang, and its neighbour a delicious chicken curry, “you will to-day be exposed a good deal to the heat of the sun; you will exert yourselves, no doubt; and therefore it is advisable that you should be very moderate in what you eat and drink. Thanks, yes, major, I will take a glass of claret before my coffee. What a thing it is that we can get no milk.”So saying, the doctor set to work, “feeding ferociously,” so Captain Horton said, with a laugh, and partaking of everything that took his fancy, finishing off with a cigarette.The sultan smiled his satisfaction as he sat at the head of the table, eating little himself, but giving instructions from time to time to his slaves that they should hand fruit and other delicacies to the guests that were near him.The various officers followed the doctor’s example, telling one another that they could not be far wrong if they imitated their medical guide. The only one who did not seem to enjoy his meal was Mr Linton, who felt worried, he hardly knew why, about their position.Now that he was away from the residency, an undefined sense of trouble had come upon him, and he could not help feeling how helpless they must be if the Malays turned against them. Certainly they were all well-armed, and could make a brave fight, perhaps win their way back; but if they did, he felt sure that something would have gone wrong at the island.The preparations for the fresh start chased away his forebodings, and the packing having been rapidly performed, soldier, sailor, and Malay were soon in motion, the long train winding its way through the dense jungle, with the rattan panniers and howdahs of the elephants brushing the lush verdure on either side.The morning was deliciously cool, and as they went on and on through the forest shades, where at every turn something bright and beautiful met their gaze, the whole party were in the highest spirits; and the discipline only being kept tight as to the order in which they marched, the men laughed and talked, sang and smoked, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.And certainly it would have moved the spirit of the most cankered denizen of a city to see the beauty of the parasites that clustered and hung from tree to tree. The orchids were of the most brilliant colours; and now and then they passed a lake or pool in the depths of the jungle which would be covered in places with the flower of the lotus, while in every sunny opening the great clusters of nepenthes—the pitcher plant—brightened the scene.These latter delighted the Jacks amazingly, and not being allowed to break their ranks, they sent the Malays near them to pick anything that took their fancy. These “monkey cups,” as they called them, were constantly picked ostensibly for the purpose of supplying the sailors with a drink, for each contained more or less water; but it was never drunk, for in each there were generally the remains of some unfortunate flies, who had gone down into the treacherous vegetable cavern, and being unable to clamber out had miserably perished.During the heat of the day there was a halt once more, the Malays staring at the sailors and soldiers sitting about under the trees for a quiet smoke and watching the elephants, which, being relieved of their pads and howdahs, walked straight into a great pool near to which they were halted, and then cooled themselves by drawing their trunks full of water and squirting it all over their sides.“I’m blest,” said one of the Jacks, “if they ain’t the rummest beggars I ever see. Just look at that one, Bill. Lor’ if he ain’t just like a bit o’ annymated hingy rubber.”“Ah?” said his mate, “you might fit a pair o’ blacksmith’s bellows on to the muzzle o’ that trunk of his, and then blow him out into a balloon.”“When are we going to begin to hunt tigers?” said another. “Oh, we ain’t going to hunt them at all, only keep ’em from coming by us, and driving ’em up to where the orficers are.”“I say,” said another sailor, “this here’s all very well, but suppose some time or another, when these Malay chaps have got us out into the middle of these woods, they turn upon us, and whip out their krises—what then?”“What then?” said a soldier, who heard him; “why then we should have to go through the bayonet exercise in real earnest; but it won’t come to that.”Two more days were spent in the journey, and then, upon his guests beginning to manifest some impatience, the sultan announced that they were now on the borders of the tiger country; and that afternoon there were preparations for a beat when a couple of tigers were seen, but they managed to escape.The sultan smilingly told his guests that at the end of another march the game would be more plentiful; and once more there was a steady tramp along one of the narrow jungle-paths, into a country wilder than ever—for they were away from the rivers now, and no traces of cultivation had been seen.There was no dissatisfaction, though, for if the officers shot no tigers they found plenty of jungle-fowl and snipe, upon which they tried their powers with the gun, and made goodly bags of delicious little birds to add to the daily bill of fare.Another day, and still another, in which the expedition penetrated farther and farther into the forest wild. The officers were delighted, and Doctor Bolter in raptures. He had obtained specimens of the atlas moth, a large flap-winged insect, as large across as a moderate dish; he had shot sun-birds, azure kingfishers, gapers, chatterers, parroquets; and his last achievement had been to kill a boa-constrictor twenty-four feet long.It was no dangerous monster, but a great sluggish brute, that had hissed at him viciously and then tried to escape. But the doctor had for attendant a very plucky little Malay, appointed by the sultan, and this man was delighted with his task, following the doctor anywhere. Upon this occasion he had come upon the serpent lying coiled up, evidently sleeping off a repast of a heavy kind.The boy shouted to the doctor, who was trying to stalk a lizard in an open place; and this roused the serpent, which began to uncoil, one fold gliding over the other, while its head was raised and its curious eyes sparkled in the sun.The boy waited his opportunity, and then darting in cleverly avoided the reptile’s teeth, and caught it by the tail, dragging the creature out nearly straight as he called to his master to fire.The serpent was apparently puzzled by this proceeding, and threw itself round a tree, hissing furiously as it menaced its assailant. Then sending a wave along the free part of its body to the tail, the Malay was driven flying on to his back amidst the canes.The retreat of the reptile was cut off, though, for this interruption gave the doctor time to come up with his little double fowling-piece, from which a quick shot sent the menacing, quivering head down upon the earth; and then going up, a second shot placed the writhing monsterhors de combat.There was no little mirth in the camp as, faint and perspiring profusely, the doctor and his Malay boy came in, slowly dragging the long quivering body of the serpent, which the former at once set to work to skin before it should become offensive. Then the skin was laid raw side upwards, and dressed over with arsenical soap, a dose of which the Malay boy nearly succeeded in swallowing, being attracted by its pleasant aromatic odour.“Laugh away,” said the doctor, “but I mean to have that skin set up and sent to the British Museum, presented by Doctor Bolter,” he said importantly.“Well,” said Captain Horton, “for my part I would rather encounter a fierce Malay than one of these writhing creatures. Take care of yourself, doctor, or you’ll be constricted.”“Yes,” said Major Sandars, entering into the joke, “I’ll give orders that every swollen serpent is to be bayonetted and opened if the doctor is missing.”“Laugh away,” said the doctor; “I don’t mind.”“That’s right,” said Captain Horton; “but for goodness’ sake, man, wash your hands well before you come to dinner.”“All right,” said the doctor; and that evening, after dinner, he took the Malay boy into his confidence.“Look here,” he said, “I want to shoot an Argus pheasant. There must be some about here.”“Argus pheasant?” said the Malay boy, staring, and then shaking his head.“Yes, I heard one last night.”Still the boy shook his head. He had never heard of such a bird.“Oh, yes, you know what I mean,” said the doctor; “they keep in the shelter of the jungle, and are very rarely shot; but I must have one.”The boy shook his head.“Don’t I tell you I heard one last night, after we had camped down? It calls outCoo-ai.”“No, no! no, no!” cried the boy; “Coo-ow, Coo-ow.”“Yes, that’s it,” cried the doctor. “You know the bird.”“Yes, know the big spot bird; all eyes,” said the boy. “Sees all over himself; like a peacock. Hunter no shoot him, see too much far.”“But I must shoot one,” said the doctor.“Yes, you shoot one,” said the boy. “I take you to-night.” The doctor rubbed his hands and was delighted; and after the dinner, when the officers and chiefs were sitting smoking and sipping their coffee by the light of the stars, he rose and took his gun, for the Malay boy was waiting.“Off again, doctor?” cried the major.“Yes,” said the little man, importantly. “I am going, sir, to add to my collection a specimen of the celebrated Argus pheasant—Phasianus Giganteus.”“No, no, doctor; no Latin names after dinner,” cried several voices.“As you please, gentlemen,” he said.“The sultan says, shall he send a score of his men to protect you?” cried Captain Horton.“For goodness’ sake no!” cried the doctor in dismay. “My dear sir, this bird is only to be shot by approaching it most cautiously at night, or by laying patiently near its haunts.”“Laying what, doctor—eggs?” said a young officer.“No, sir; a stick about the back of impertinent puppies,” cried the doctor, angrily. “I said lying—lying in wait near the bird’s haunts.”“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the young officer; and the doctor went off in dudgeon.“I say, Thompson,” said the major, “don’t you be poorly, whatever you do, until the doctor has got over it, or he’ll give you such a dose.”“I’ll take care, sir,” said the young man; and they went on chatting about other things.

There was a thick mist hanging over the forest when the bugle rang out thereveille, and, some eagerly, some thinking rest the better thing, all the hunting-party began to gather outside their tents, where the best apologies for tubs and baths were provided for the officers.

No sooner, however, did the Malays see this than they laughingly led the way to a little river, evidently a tributary of the Parang, and setting the example plunged into its deep, clear, cool waters, showing themselves to be adepts at swimming, and laughing to scorn the idea of there being any crocodiles there.

The water was deliciously cool, and one and all the officers gladly availed themselves of the jungle bath, emerging fresh, and their nerves toned up ready for any work that was to fall to their lot that day.

By the time they returned to the camp anal frescobreakfast was ready, half English, half Malay. There were tea and coffee, potted meats and sardines, and side by side with them, delicious Malay curries, made with fresh cocoa-nut, sambals of the most piquant nature, and fresh fish and blachang—that favourite preparation of putrid shrimps. Fruits were in abundance—plantains of various kinds, mangosteens, lychees, and durians smelling strong enough to drive away a dozen Tom Longs, had they been there. In short, the sultan had given orders that his cooks should do their best; similar instructions had been given by Captain Horton and Major Sandars; and the result was a breakfast fit for a prince—who could put up with a picnic and a camp-stool, beneath an umbrageous tree.

“Whatever you gentlemen do,” said Doctor Bolter, “pray restrain your appetites. You see,” he said, taking his seat cross-legged, like the Malays, in front of a dish of blachang, and its neighbour a delicious chicken curry, “you will to-day be exposed a good deal to the heat of the sun; you will exert yourselves, no doubt; and therefore it is advisable that you should be very moderate in what you eat and drink. Thanks, yes, major, I will take a glass of claret before my coffee. What a thing it is that we can get no milk.”

So saying, the doctor set to work, “feeding ferociously,” so Captain Horton said, with a laugh, and partaking of everything that took his fancy, finishing off with a cigarette.

The sultan smiled his satisfaction as he sat at the head of the table, eating little himself, but giving instructions from time to time to his slaves that they should hand fruit and other delicacies to the guests that were near him.

The various officers followed the doctor’s example, telling one another that they could not be far wrong if they imitated their medical guide. The only one who did not seem to enjoy his meal was Mr Linton, who felt worried, he hardly knew why, about their position.

Now that he was away from the residency, an undefined sense of trouble had come upon him, and he could not help feeling how helpless they must be if the Malays turned against them. Certainly they were all well-armed, and could make a brave fight, perhaps win their way back; but if they did, he felt sure that something would have gone wrong at the island.

The preparations for the fresh start chased away his forebodings, and the packing having been rapidly performed, soldier, sailor, and Malay were soon in motion, the long train winding its way through the dense jungle, with the rattan panniers and howdahs of the elephants brushing the lush verdure on either side.

The morning was deliciously cool, and as they went on and on through the forest shades, where at every turn something bright and beautiful met their gaze, the whole party were in the highest spirits; and the discipline only being kept tight as to the order in which they marched, the men laughed and talked, sang and smoked, and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.

And certainly it would have moved the spirit of the most cankered denizen of a city to see the beauty of the parasites that clustered and hung from tree to tree. The orchids were of the most brilliant colours; and now and then they passed a lake or pool in the depths of the jungle which would be covered in places with the flower of the lotus, while in every sunny opening the great clusters of nepenthes—the pitcher plant—brightened the scene.

These latter delighted the Jacks amazingly, and not being allowed to break their ranks, they sent the Malays near them to pick anything that took their fancy. These “monkey cups,” as they called them, were constantly picked ostensibly for the purpose of supplying the sailors with a drink, for each contained more or less water; but it was never drunk, for in each there were generally the remains of some unfortunate flies, who had gone down into the treacherous vegetable cavern, and being unable to clamber out had miserably perished.

During the heat of the day there was a halt once more, the Malays staring at the sailors and soldiers sitting about under the trees for a quiet smoke and watching the elephants, which, being relieved of their pads and howdahs, walked straight into a great pool near to which they were halted, and then cooled themselves by drawing their trunks full of water and squirting it all over their sides.

“I’m blest,” said one of the Jacks, “if they ain’t the rummest beggars I ever see. Just look at that one, Bill. Lor’ if he ain’t just like a bit o’ annymated hingy rubber.”

“Ah?” said his mate, “you might fit a pair o’ blacksmith’s bellows on to the muzzle o’ that trunk of his, and then blow him out into a balloon.”

“When are we going to begin to hunt tigers?” said another. “Oh, we ain’t going to hunt them at all, only keep ’em from coming by us, and driving ’em up to where the orficers are.”

“I say,” said another sailor, “this here’s all very well, but suppose some time or another, when these Malay chaps have got us out into the middle of these woods, they turn upon us, and whip out their krises—what then?”

“What then?” said a soldier, who heard him; “why then we should have to go through the bayonet exercise in real earnest; but it won’t come to that.”

Two more days were spent in the journey, and then, upon his guests beginning to manifest some impatience, the sultan announced that they were now on the borders of the tiger country; and that afternoon there were preparations for a beat when a couple of tigers were seen, but they managed to escape.

The sultan smilingly told his guests that at the end of another march the game would be more plentiful; and once more there was a steady tramp along one of the narrow jungle-paths, into a country wilder than ever—for they were away from the rivers now, and no traces of cultivation had been seen.

There was no dissatisfaction, though, for if the officers shot no tigers they found plenty of jungle-fowl and snipe, upon which they tried their powers with the gun, and made goodly bags of delicious little birds to add to the daily bill of fare.

Another day, and still another, in which the expedition penetrated farther and farther into the forest wild. The officers were delighted, and Doctor Bolter in raptures. He had obtained specimens of the atlas moth, a large flap-winged insect, as large across as a moderate dish; he had shot sun-birds, azure kingfishers, gapers, chatterers, parroquets; and his last achievement had been to kill a boa-constrictor twenty-four feet long.

It was no dangerous monster, but a great sluggish brute, that had hissed at him viciously and then tried to escape. But the doctor had for attendant a very plucky little Malay, appointed by the sultan, and this man was delighted with his task, following the doctor anywhere. Upon this occasion he had come upon the serpent lying coiled up, evidently sleeping off a repast of a heavy kind.

The boy shouted to the doctor, who was trying to stalk a lizard in an open place; and this roused the serpent, which began to uncoil, one fold gliding over the other, while its head was raised and its curious eyes sparkled in the sun.

The boy waited his opportunity, and then darting in cleverly avoided the reptile’s teeth, and caught it by the tail, dragging the creature out nearly straight as he called to his master to fire.

The serpent was apparently puzzled by this proceeding, and threw itself round a tree, hissing furiously as it menaced its assailant. Then sending a wave along the free part of its body to the tail, the Malay was driven flying on to his back amidst the canes.

The retreat of the reptile was cut off, though, for this interruption gave the doctor time to come up with his little double fowling-piece, from which a quick shot sent the menacing, quivering head down upon the earth; and then going up, a second shot placed the writhing monsterhors de combat.

There was no little mirth in the camp as, faint and perspiring profusely, the doctor and his Malay boy came in, slowly dragging the long quivering body of the serpent, which the former at once set to work to skin before it should become offensive. Then the skin was laid raw side upwards, and dressed over with arsenical soap, a dose of which the Malay boy nearly succeeded in swallowing, being attracted by its pleasant aromatic odour.

“Laugh away,” said the doctor, “but I mean to have that skin set up and sent to the British Museum, presented by Doctor Bolter,” he said importantly.

“Well,” said Captain Horton, “for my part I would rather encounter a fierce Malay than one of these writhing creatures. Take care of yourself, doctor, or you’ll be constricted.”

“Yes,” said Major Sandars, entering into the joke, “I’ll give orders that every swollen serpent is to be bayonetted and opened if the doctor is missing.”

“Laugh away,” said the doctor; “I don’t mind.”

“That’s right,” said Captain Horton; “but for goodness’ sake, man, wash your hands well before you come to dinner.”

“All right,” said the doctor; and that evening, after dinner, he took the Malay boy into his confidence.

“Look here,” he said, “I want to shoot an Argus pheasant. There must be some about here.”

“Argus pheasant?” said the Malay boy, staring, and then shaking his head.

“Yes, I heard one last night.”

Still the boy shook his head. He had never heard of such a bird.

“Oh, yes, you know what I mean,” said the doctor; “they keep in the shelter of the jungle, and are very rarely shot; but I must have one.”

The boy shook his head.

“Don’t I tell you I heard one last night, after we had camped down? It calls outCoo-ai.”

“No, no! no, no!” cried the boy; “Coo-ow, Coo-ow.”

“Yes, that’s it,” cried the doctor. “You know the bird.”

“Yes, know the big spot bird; all eyes,” said the boy. “Sees all over himself; like a peacock. Hunter no shoot him, see too much far.”

“But I must shoot one,” said the doctor.

“Yes, you shoot one,” said the boy. “I take you to-night.” The doctor rubbed his hands and was delighted; and after the dinner, when the officers and chiefs were sitting smoking and sipping their coffee by the light of the stars, he rose and took his gun, for the Malay boy was waiting.

“Off again, doctor?” cried the major.

“Yes,” said the little man, importantly. “I am going, sir, to add to my collection a specimen of the celebrated Argus pheasant—Phasianus Giganteus.”

“No, no, doctor; no Latin names after dinner,” cried several voices.

“As you please, gentlemen,” he said.

“The sultan says, shall he send a score of his men to protect you?” cried Captain Horton.

“For goodness’ sake no!” cried the doctor in dismay. “My dear sir, this bird is only to be shot by approaching it most cautiously at night, or by laying patiently near its haunts.”

“Laying what, doctor—eggs?” said a young officer.

“No, sir; a stick about the back of impertinent puppies,” cried the doctor, angrily. “I said lying—lying in wait near the bird’s haunts.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the young officer; and the doctor went off in dudgeon.

“I say, Thompson,” said the major, “don’t you be poorly, whatever you do, until the doctor has got over it, or he’ll give you such a dose.”

“I’ll take care, sir,” said the young man; and they went on chatting about other things.

Chapter Fifty Six.Doctor Bolter’s Bird.Meanwhile the doctor followed his Malay boy—as he was called, though he was really a man—through a narrow path right away from the camp and into the jungle.The doctor was ruffled exceedingly at his slip of grammar, and looked very much annoyed; but the thought of being able to secure a specimen of the much-prized Argus pheasant chased away the other trouble, and he walked on closely behind his guide.“How far have we to go, my lad?” he said.“Walk two hours,” said the Malay, “then sit down and listen. No speak a word tillCoo-owcome. Then make gun speak and kill him!”“To be sure!” said the doctor, nodding his head; and then almost in silence he followed his guide, often feeling disposed to try and shoot one or other of the nocturnal birds that flitted silently by, or one of the great fruit bats that, longer in their spread of wings than rooks, flew in flocks on their way to devastate some orchard far away.Quite two hours had elapsed, during which the Malay, apparently quite at home, led his scientific companion right away through the gloom of the wilderness.At last he enjoined silence, saying that they were now approaching the haunts of the wondrous bird; and consequently the doctor crept on behind him without so much as crushing a twig.They had reached an opening in the forest by the side of what was evidently a mountain of considerable height, and the doctor smiled as he recalled the fact that the Argus pheasant was reputed to haunt such places; when to his intense delight there soddenly rang out from the distance on the silent night air a peculiar cry that resembled the name given to the bird—Coo-ow. For the moment it seemed to the doctor as if some Australian savage was uttering his well-knownCoo-ay, or as if this was the Malays’ form of the cry. But he knew well enough what it was, and following his guide with the greatest caution they crept on towards the place from which the sound had seemed to come.It was weird work in that wild solitude far on towards midnight, but the doctor was too keen a naturalist to think of anything but the specimen of which he was in search. He knew that the native hunters, out night after night, could not shoot more than one of these birds in a year, and it would be quite a triumph if he could add such a magnificent thing to his collection.Coo-ow—rang out the strange cry, and it seemed quite near. Then againCoo-ow, and this time it appeared to be a long way off.This was tantalising, but he concluded directly after that the second cry might be that of another bird answering the first.They were now in amongst a number of low bushes, which gave them cover, while it made the surrounding country less black than when they were in the jungle-path. There they could only grope their way with outstretched hands; here they could have gone on at a respectable foot pace without danger of running against some impediment in the path.The doctor cocked both barrels of his gun, after opening the breech and making sure that the cartridges were in their place, and, in momentary expectation of setting a shot, he kept close behind the Malay.Coo-ow! came the cry again, this time a little to the left; and the Malay stretched out a hand behind him to grasp that of the doctor as he went cautiously on.Coo-ow! again, but a little farther off, and with his nerves throbbing with excitement, the doctor kept up the chase, now seeming close to the bird, then being left behind, but never once getting within shot.It was very provoking, but the guide was in earnest, and the doctor would have gone through ten times the trouble to achieve his end.And so they stole on through the thick brushwood, with the bird repeating its cry so near from time to time as to make them feel that they must get a shot directly; but still the hope was deferred.A lighter patch in front showed that the forest was a little more open, and the Malay loosed the doctor’s hand for a moment to clamber over a block of stone—when there was a rushing noise, what seemed to be a heavy blow, a hoarse cry, and then silence, broken directly after by a low deep growling just in front of where Doctor Bolter stood—petrified and unable to move.He was too much taken aback by the suddenness of the incident to comprehend for a time what had taken place; but directly after, with his hands wet with excitement, and his heart seeming to stand still, he realised that some great animal had been stalking them, as they had been stalking the Argus pheasant, and, waiting for its opportunity, had sprung upon and seized the Malay.There was the low snarling growl not two yards from where he stood, just the noise upon a larger scale that a cat would make when crouching down over the rat that it had seized; and the doctor felt that there could be only one creature in the jungle that would seize its prey in such a manner—the tiger.In spite of his bravery and the strength of nerve that had often made him face death without a tremor, Dr Bolter felt a cold shiver pass through him as he realised how near he was to a terrible end. The tiger might have seized him instead of the Malay—in fact, might spring upon him at any moment; and as he felt this, he brought the barrels of his gun to bear on the dark spot where the tiger lay crouching upon its victim, and with his fingers on both triggers stood ready to fire at the first movement of the beast.That first movement, he knew, might be to spring upon him and strike him down; and nature bade him flee at once for his life—bade him drop his gun, run to the first tree, and climb into its branches—escape as a timid beast, a monkey, might have done.Education, on the contrary, bade him stay—told him that it would be the act of a coward and a cur to run off and leave the poor fellow lying there to his fate, the horrible fate of being torn and half devoured by the tiger—bade him be a man, and do something, even at the risk of his own life, to save the Malay who had been stricken down in his service; and as these thoughts came to Doctor Bolter his eyes dilated in the darkness, and he strove to make out the positions in which tiger and man were lying.It was some time before he could make this out, and then it seemed to him that the tiger had struck the Malay down upon his face, and was lying upon him, with his teeth fixed in his shoulder.Just then the unfortunate man uttered a loud cry, when the tiger gave an angry snarl, and Doctor Bolter was able to assure himself of their relative positions. In fact there was the side of the tiger’s head not six feet from him, and dare he fire it was almost impossible to miss.But the gun was loaded with small shot, and even at so close a range he might injure the unfortunate Malay, if he were not beyond the point when a fresh blow would do him harm.Doctor Bolter stood unable to move. He did not feel very much alarmed now, the danger was too near, but he could not for the moment act.At last, though, his nerves seemed to become more set, and setting his teeth he held his piece ready, and with one motion advanced his left foot and went down on his right knee, at the same time raising his gun to his shoulder.It was done in a moment—the tiger raising its head from the victim with a savage roar; when with the mouth of the piece not eighteen inches from the creature’s head, Doctor Bolter drew the triggers, almost together.There was a brilliant flash in the darkness, which showed him the glistening teeth of the savage beast and its glaring eyes—a double report—and with a furious roar the monster sprang forward, crashing into some bushes, and then all was still.Quick as lightning the doctor threw open the breech of his piece, and inserted this time a couple of ball-cartridges, closed the gun, and stood ready for the monster’s attack, knowing though that it must be sorely wounded, for he had aimed straight at its eye, and the small shot would, at that distance, have the effect of a bullet.A minute—two minutes, that seemed like hours, did the doctor stand there, expecting to hear some movement on the tiger’s part, either for attack or retreat; but it did not stir, and he dared not fire again at random.Just then there was a low groan, and a faint movement at his feet.The doctor’s piece swung round involuntarily, but directly after he recalled that it must be the Malay, and with dry throat and lips he spoke to him.“Are you much hurt?”There was a few moments’ pause, and then the Malay spoke.“My shoulder is gnawed; I can’t use my arm.”“Can you crawl behind me?” said the doctor, hoarsely.For reply the Malay rose to his feet, and staggering slightly, he made his way behind where the doctor stood.“I dare not move,” said Doctor Bolter. “The beast may spring upon us again.”“No,” said the Malay, whose voice sounded stronger; “he is dead. Have you a light?”The doctor held his gun with one hand and pulled out his match-box with the other, when, in spite of his wounds, the Malay knelt down, drew a piece of dammar from the fold of his sarong, stuck it in a cleft stick, and then striking a match he fired the dry grass and lit the dammar, which made an excellent torch.With this advanced he took a couple of strides forward, and holding the light down, there lay the tiger on its side, the white under fur showing plainly, the doctor seeing that the creature’s neck and legs were stretched out, and that it was indeed dead.“Thank heaven!” he muttered, fervently: and standing his gun against a tree he set to work piling up dead wood and dry canes to make a fire, when by its light and that of the dammar-torch the doctor proceeded to roughly dress the Malay’s wounds.The tiger had seized him by the muscles of his left shoulder and clawed the upper part of his arm—terrible wounds enough, but not likely to prove fatal; and when the doctor had done all he could to make the poor fellow comfortable, the Malay lay down, gazing up at him as he trickled a little brandy from his flask between the poor fellow’s lips.“You are good,” he said at last. “You saved my life. Now I shall save yours.”“Save mine?” said the doctor. “Well, I hope we shall have no more tigers to face.”“No,” said the man, “not from tigers, but from men. You did not eat blachang to-night?”“No,” said the doctor. “Why?”“Sultan Hamet hadtoobahput in it to-night: same as to make fish sleep.”“What? I don’t understand you!” cried the doctor excitedly.“Sultan Hamet means to have all the English krissed to-night while they sleep,” said the Malay; “but you have saved my life: shall save yours.”

Meanwhile the doctor followed his Malay boy—as he was called, though he was really a man—through a narrow path right away from the camp and into the jungle.

The doctor was ruffled exceedingly at his slip of grammar, and looked very much annoyed; but the thought of being able to secure a specimen of the much-prized Argus pheasant chased away the other trouble, and he walked on closely behind his guide.

“How far have we to go, my lad?” he said.

“Walk two hours,” said the Malay, “then sit down and listen. No speak a word tillCoo-owcome. Then make gun speak and kill him!”

“To be sure!” said the doctor, nodding his head; and then almost in silence he followed his guide, often feeling disposed to try and shoot one or other of the nocturnal birds that flitted silently by, or one of the great fruit bats that, longer in their spread of wings than rooks, flew in flocks on their way to devastate some orchard far away.

Quite two hours had elapsed, during which the Malay, apparently quite at home, led his scientific companion right away through the gloom of the wilderness.

At last he enjoined silence, saying that they were now approaching the haunts of the wondrous bird; and consequently the doctor crept on behind him without so much as crushing a twig.

They had reached an opening in the forest by the side of what was evidently a mountain of considerable height, and the doctor smiled as he recalled the fact that the Argus pheasant was reputed to haunt such places; when to his intense delight there soddenly rang out from the distance on the silent night air a peculiar cry that resembled the name given to the bird—Coo-ow. For the moment it seemed to the doctor as if some Australian savage was uttering his well-knownCoo-ay, or as if this was the Malays’ form of the cry. But he knew well enough what it was, and following his guide with the greatest caution they crept on towards the place from which the sound had seemed to come.

It was weird work in that wild solitude far on towards midnight, but the doctor was too keen a naturalist to think of anything but the specimen of which he was in search. He knew that the native hunters, out night after night, could not shoot more than one of these birds in a year, and it would be quite a triumph if he could add such a magnificent thing to his collection.

Coo-ow—rang out the strange cry, and it seemed quite near. Then againCoo-ow, and this time it appeared to be a long way off.

This was tantalising, but he concluded directly after that the second cry might be that of another bird answering the first.

They were now in amongst a number of low bushes, which gave them cover, while it made the surrounding country less black than when they were in the jungle-path. There they could only grope their way with outstretched hands; here they could have gone on at a respectable foot pace without danger of running against some impediment in the path.

The doctor cocked both barrels of his gun, after opening the breech and making sure that the cartridges were in their place, and, in momentary expectation of setting a shot, he kept close behind the Malay.

Coo-ow! came the cry again, this time a little to the left; and the Malay stretched out a hand behind him to grasp that of the doctor as he went cautiously on.

Coo-ow! again, but a little farther off, and with his nerves throbbing with excitement, the doctor kept up the chase, now seeming close to the bird, then being left behind, but never once getting within shot.

It was very provoking, but the guide was in earnest, and the doctor would have gone through ten times the trouble to achieve his end.

And so they stole on through the thick brushwood, with the bird repeating its cry so near from time to time as to make them feel that they must get a shot directly; but still the hope was deferred.

A lighter patch in front showed that the forest was a little more open, and the Malay loosed the doctor’s hand for a moment to clamber over a block of stone—when there was a rushing noise, what seemed to be a heavy blow, a hoarse cry, and then silence, broken directly after by a low deep growling just in front of where Doctor Bolter stood—petrified and unable to move.

He was too much taken aback by the suddenness of the incident to comprehend for a time what had taken place; but directly after, with his hands wet with excitement, and his heart seeming to stand still, he realised that some great animal had been stalking them, as they had been stalking the Argus pheasant, and, waiting for its opportunity, had sprung upon and seized the Malay.

There was the low snarling growl not two yards from where he stood, just the noise upon a larger scale that a cat would make when crouching down over the rat that it had seized; and the doctor felt that there could be only one creature in the jungle that would seize its prey in such a manner—the tiger.

In spite of his bravery and the strength of nerve that had often made him face death without a tremor, Dr Bolter felt a cold shiver pass through him as he realised how near he was to a terrible end. The tiger might have seized him instead of the Malay—in fact, might spring upon him at any moment; and as he felt this, he brought the barrels of his gun to bear on the dark spot where the tiger lay crouching upon its victim, and with his fingers on both triggers stood ready to fire at the first movement of the beast.

That first movement, he knew, might be to spring upon him and strike him down; and nature bade him flee at once for his life—bade him drop his gun, run to the first tree, and climb into its branches—escape as a timid beast, a monkey, might have done.

Education, on the contrary, bade him stay—told him that it would be the act of a coward and a cur to run off and leave the poor fellow lying there to his fate, the horrible fate of being torn and half devoured by the tiger—bade him be a man, and do something, even at the risk of his own life, to save the Malay who had been stricken down in his service; and as these thoughts came to Doctor Bolter his eyes dilated in the darkness, and he strove to make out the positions in which tiger and man were lying.

It was some time before he could make this out, and then it seemed to him that the tiger had struck the Malay down upon his face, and was lying upon him, with his teeth fixed in his shoulder.

Just then the unfortunate man uttered a loud cry, when the tiger gave an angry snarl, and Doctor Bolter was able to assure himself of their relative positions. In fact there was the side of the tiger’s head not six feet from him, and dare he fire it was almost impossible to miss.

But the gun was loaded with small shot, and even at so close a range he might injure the unfortunate Malay, if he were not beyond the point when a fresh blow would do him harm.

Doctor Bolter stood unable to move. He did not feel very much alarmed now, the danger was too near, but he could not for the moment act.

At last, though, his nerves seemed to become more set, and setting his teeth he held his piece ready, and with one motion advanced his left foot and went down on his right knee, at the same time raising his gun to his shoulder.

It was done in a moment—the tiger raising its head from the victim with a savage roar; when with the mouth of the piece not eighteen inches from the creature’s head, Doctor Bolter drew the triggers, almost together.

There was a brilliant flash in the darkness, which showed him the glistening teeth of the savage beast and its glaring eyes—a double report—and with a furious roar the monster sprang forward, crashing into some bushes, and then all was still.

Quick as lightning the doctor threw open the breech of his piece, and inserted this time a couple of ball-cartridges, closed the gun, and stood ready for the monster’s attack, knowing though that it must be sorely wounded, for he had aimed straight at its eye, and the small shot would, at that distance, have the effect of a bullet.

A minute—two minutes, that seemed like hours, did the doctor stand there, expecting to hear some movement on the tiger’s part, either for attack or retreat; but it did not stir, and he dared not fire again at random.

Just then there was a low groan, and a faint movement at his feet.

The doctor’s piece swung round involuntarily, but directly after he recalled that it must be the Malay, and with dry throat and lips he spoke to him.

“Are you much hurt?”

There was a few moments’ pause, and then the Malay spoke.

“My shoulder is gnawed; I can’t use my arm.”

“Can you crawl behind me?” said the doctor, hoarsely.

For reply the Malay rose to his feet, and staggering slightly, he made his way behind where the doctor stood.

“I dare not move,” said Doctor Bolter. “The beast may spring upon us again.”

“No,” said the Malay, whose voice sounded stronger; “he is dead. Have you a light?”

The doctor held his gun with one hand and pulled out his match-box with the other, when, in spite of his wounds, the Malay knelt down, drew a piece of dammar from the fold of his sarong, stuck it in a cleft stick, and then striking a match he fired the dry grass and lit the dammar, which made an excellent torch.

With this advanced he took a couple of strides forward, and holding the light down, there lay the tiger on its side, the white under fur showing plainly, the doctor seeing that the creature’s neck and legs were stretched out, and that it was indeed dead.

“Thank heaven!” he muttered, fervently: and standing his gun against a tree he set to work piling up dead wood and dry canes to make a fire, when by its light and that of the dammar-torch the doctor proceeded to roughly dress the Malay’s wounds.

The tiger had seized him by the muscles of his left shoulder and clawed the upper part of his arm—terrible wounds enough, but not likely to prove fatal; and when the doctor had done all he could to make the poor fellow comfortable, the Malay lay down, gazing up at him as he trickled a little brandy from his flask between the poor fellow’s lips.

“You are good,” he said at last. “You saved my life. Now I shall save yours.”

“Save mine?” said the doctor. “Well, I hope we shall have no more tigers to face.”

“No,” said the man, “not from tigers, but from men. You did not eat blachang to-night?”

“No,” said the doctor. “Why?”

“Sultan Hamet hadtoobahput in it to-night: same as to make fish sleep.”

“What? I don’t understand you!” cried the doctor excitedly.

“Sultan Hamet means to have all the English krissed to-night while they sleep,” said the Malay; “but you have saved my life: shall save yours.”

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