Chapter Eight.A Hungry Croc.The next moment Ned stood with clenched fists, about to fly at the Tumongong’s son, as he had mentally dubbed him, but his fists unclenched, and he began to comprehend that he must have been in some danger from which he had been driven and dragged by the excited lad, who now snatched off the little flat military-looking cap he wore, and showed a crop of curly dark hair—not black, coarse, and straight like a Malay’s—and as he wiped his streaming forehead with the silken sleeve of his baju, he cried fiercely: “What a jolly fool you must be to go and stand there.”“Eh? I? Was I? Would the monkey have bitten me?”“Yes, if you had pulled his tail, and he wouldn’t have let you. He bitten you? No.”“Then,” said Ned, flushing a little, and feeling indignant at the young semi-savage’s dictatorial speech, “why was I a jolly fool to go and stand there, pray?”“Hark at him!” said the lad, looking round as if he were addressing an audience; “he says, Why was he a jolly fool? Oh, what a green one you are!”“Look here, sir,” said Ned, shortly; “have the goodness to be a little more respectful in your speech. I am not accustomed to be addressed in that manner.”“Oh certainly, my lord,” said the lad. “Salaam maharajah, salaam.” And raising his hands above his head, he bowed down almost to the ground. “I didn’t know you were such a grandee.”“Never mind what I am, sir, and have the goodness to keep your place.”“Yes, my lord. Salaam maha—”“Stop!” cried Ned, angrily. “I don’t want you to do that tomfoolery to me.”The lad made a grimace, and meekly crossed his hands upon his breast.“Now, sir, have the goodness to tell me why I was a jolly fool, and so green, as you call it. Pity people can’t teach you foreigners something better than slang. Now then—answer.”“Well, to go and stand under that tree with a croc stalking you.”“Croc stalking you? What do you mean?”“Don’t you know the river’s full of crocodiles?”“I know there are some there.”“Some!” cried the lad. “Why, it’s as full as a pond is of sticklebacks.”Ned stared at these words, coming out of eastern lips.“Why, when they krissed a fellow this morning, and tumbled him into the river, Dilloo Dee says one of them snatched the body under directly. He told me just now. Didn’t you see that one coming at you?”“I saw a big fish under the lotus-leaves.”“Big fisherman you mean. Poof!” cried the boy, bursting into a roar of laughter, “it was a great croc, and I was just in time to knock you out of the way. I thought he would have got you, he made such a rush.”“Did—did you see him?” said Ned, turning a little white.“Only got a glimpse of his wet scales; but I knew he was there stalking you, by that monkey scolding him. Oh my! how the little beggars do hate a croc.”“Then—then, you saved my life, and I didn’t know it,” said Ned.“Eh? Well, I s’pose I did, for if he had pulled you down, I don’t suppose we should ever have seen you again.”“Ugh!” shuddered Ned. “How horrid. What a dreadful country this is.”“Get out! I like it.”“But tell me: would that thing have dragged me in?”“To be sure he would. Why, it’s only two days since he pulled a girl into the water. She’d only gone down to wash a sarong.”“Is it a big one?” asked Ned, after gazing in a horrified way at his companion.“Oh yes! a whacker—fifty or sixty feet long.”“Nonsense!”“Well then, fifteen or twenty. I know it’s a big one. One of our men—Dilloo, I think it was—saw him one day ashore. Look here, old chap, tell you what. We’ll get some of the fellows to lend us a rope with a loose end, and a hook, and we’ll set a night-line for the beggar, and catch him. What do you say?”“I should like to, if we stay here.”“Oh, you’ll stay here,” said the lad, laughing. “Like fishing?”“Passionately.”“So do I. Caught two dozen yesterday after I met you. I say, you and your uncle are bird and butterfly cocks, aren’t you?”“My uncle is a naturalist, and I help him,” said Ned, rather stiffly, for this easy-going address from a young Malay, who had evidently passed all his life among English people, annoyed him. “But I say, what a knowledge you have of English.”“Oh yes, I know some English,” said the lad, laughing.“And Malay?”“Oh, pretty tidy. I don’t jabber, but I can make the beggars understand me right enough. What’s your name? Murray, isn’t it?”“Yes.”“But the other? Tom—Dick—Harry?”“Edward.”“Oh, where are you going to, Edward Gray? What is it? That’s wrong. What does old Tennyson say? Hullo! what’s the matter?”“I—that is—” stammered Ned—“some mistake. You speak English so well.”“Of course I do.”“But what is your name?”“Frank Braine.”“Then you are not the Tumongong’s son?”“Tumon grandmother’s—ha! ha! What a game! Oh, I see now! I forgot that I was in nigger togs. You took me for one of them.”“Of course I did.”“Well, it’s a rum one. Won’t father laugh! That’s why you were so cocky at first?”“Yes, I didn’t know you were Mr Braine’s son. You are, aren’t you?”“Course I am. Been out here two years now. I was at Marlborough—school you know—and I’d got the whiffles or something so bad, the doctor said I should die if I wasn’t sent to a warm climate. They sent a letter to the dad, and it was nine months getting to him. Ma says he was in a taking till he’d got a despatch sent down to Singapore, to be dillygraphed home to England for me to come here directly. He couldn’t fetch me, you know. The ould one, as Tim calls him, wouldn’t let him go. You know him?”“Yes.”“Well, they sent me out, and after they’d carried me on board, the captain of the steamer told one of the passengers that it was a shame to have sent me, for I should die before I was half-way out. It made me so wild, that I squeaked out that he didn’t know what he was talking about, and he’d better mind his own business. And he didn’t either, for I began to get better directly, and the old skipper shook hands with me, and was as pleased as could be, one day just before we got to Singapore; for I had climbed up into the foretop and laughed at him, I’d got so much stronger. Then I had to go up to Malacca, and there old Bang-gong met me.”“Who?”“Tumongong, and brought me up here, and now I’m as strong as you are.”“Yes, you look wonderfully brown and well.”“And you took me for a nigger! What a game!”“Of course it was very stupid of me.”“Oh, I don’t know. But, I say, I am glad you’ve come. You won’t be able to go away again, but that don’t matter. It’s a jolly place, and you and I and old Tim will go shooting and fishing, and—I say—I shall come with you and your uncle collecting specimens.”“I hope so,” said Ned, who began to like his new acquaintance. “But don’t you feel as if you are a prisoner here?”“No; not a bit. I go where I like. Old Jamjah knows I shan’t run away from my people.”“Jamjar?”“That’s only my fun. I call him the Rajah of Jamjah sometimes, because he’s such a beggar to eat sweets. He asks me sometimes to go and see him, and then we have a jam feed. I’m pretty tidy that way, but he beats me hollow. Perhaps he’ll ask you some day, and if he takes to you and likes you, he gives you all sorts of things, for he’s tremendously rich, and always getting more. He wants to find gold and emeralds and rubies if he can, to make him richer, but none of his people have the gumption to look in the right place.”“That’s why he wants my uncle to go on expeditions then.”“To be sure it is; and if he finds a mine or two for the old boy, he’ll make Mr Murray a rich man.”Ned looked at him thoughtfully, while the boy chattered on.“He gave me these silk things I’ve got on, and lots more. It pleases him to wear ’em. Make some of my old form chaps laugh if they saw me, I know; but they’re very comfortable when you’re used to them, and its safer to wear ’em when you go amongst strangers, too. He gave me this kris,” continued the lad, uncovering the hilt, which was wrapped in the waist-folds of his showy plaid sarong. “That’s the way to wear it. That means peace if its covered up. If you see a fellow with his kris in his waist uncovered, that means war, so cock your pistol and look out.”As he spoke he drew out the weapon from his waistband and handed it to Ned.“That handle’s ivory, and they do all that metal-work fine.”“Why, all that working and ornament is gold.”“To be sure it is. Pull it out: there’s more gold on the blade.”Ned took hold of the handle and drew the little weapon from its light-coloured wood sheath to find that it was very broad just at the hilt, and rapidly curved down to a narrow, wavy or flame shaped blade, roughly sharp on both edges, and running down to a very fine point. It was not polished and clear like European steel, but dull, rough, and dead, full of a curious-looking grain, as if two or three different kinds of metal had been welded together, while up near the hilt there was a beautiful arabesque pattern in gold.“Ugh!” said Ned, returning it to its sheath; “it’s a nasty-looking thing. Is it poisoned?”“Not it. A thing like that doesn’t want any poison upon it.”“But krises are poisoned.”“I never saw one that was, and father says he never did. He has asked several of the big men here about them, and they always laugh and say it is nonsense; that the only poison in them is given by a good strong arm. Everybody wears a kris here,” he continued, as he returned the weapon to his waistband. “Perhaps old Jamjah will give you one.”“I don’t want one,” said Ned. Then, suddenly, “It seems a stupid sort of handle, doesn’t it?”“Yes; more like a pistol, but they like it, and they know how to use it too. I say, I hope the old chap will ask you too, next time he asks me. It’s capital fun, for you can hear all his wives whispering together behind the mat curtains, and they get peeping at you while you’re having all the good things, and are longing to join in, but they mustn’t be seen by a giaour, or the son of a giaour, as they call me. I say, if you like I’ll talk to the old fellow about you, and then he’s sure to ask you.”“No, don’t please,” replied Ned. “I nearly burst out laughing when I saw him yesterday.”“I say, it’s precious lucky for you that you didn’t. He’d never have forgiven you. Had he got on his grand uniform? Yes, he would have, to show himself off, and he does look comic in it too. You see it was made for him at a guess in London; and, my! it is rum to see him straddling about in it sometimes. He’s just like a peacock, and as proud of his feathers. But if you had laughed it would have been horrible. So mind what you are about, for he’s sure to ask you some day, and he’ll call you ‘goo-ood boy’ if you eat enough. I taught the old cock parrot to say that. But, I say, aren’t you getting hungry?”“Yes,” said Ned, quickly, for that seemed to account for a faint feeling from which he suffered.“So am I. Daresay the old croc is,” said the lad, grinning.“Oh!” cried Ned, offering his hand, “I am grateful to you for that.”“Stuff! That’s all right.”“I shall never be able to repay you.”“How do you know? Some day you’ll catch an elephant putting me in his trunk, or one of our prize striped torn tigers carrying me off, like a cat and a mouse. Then it will be your turn. Come on and have breakfast with us.”“No, I can’t leave my uncle.”“Then I’ll come and have breakfast with you. Old Jamjah will send you your rations, and they will be good till you offend him. Then you’d better look out for squalls.”“What do you mean?”“Poison. But old Barnes will put you up to some dodges to keep that off, I daresay. Yes, I am hungry. Come on.”
The next moment Ned stood with clenched fists, about to fly at the Tumongong’s son, as he had mentally dubbed him, but his fists unclenched, and he began to comprehend that he must have been in some danger from which he had been driven and dragged by the excited lad, who now snatched off the little flat military-looking cap he wore, and showed a crop of curly dark hair—not black, coarse, and straight like a Malay’s—and as he wiped his streaming forehead with the silken sleeve of his baju, he cried fiercely: “What a jolly fool you must be to go and stand there.”
“Eh? I? Was I? Would the monkey have bitten me?”
“Yes, if you had pulled his tail, and he wouldn’t have let you. He bitten you? No.”
“Then,” said Ned, flushing a little, and feeling indignant at the young semi-savage’s dictatorial speech, “why was I a jolly fool to go and stand there, pray?”
“Hark at him!” said the lad, looking round as if he were addressing an audience; “he says, Why was he a jolly fool? Oh, what a green one you are!”
“Look here, sir,” said Ned, shortly; “have the goodness to be a little more respectful in your speech. I am not accustomed to be addressed in that manner.”
“Oh certainly, my lord,” said the lad. “Salaam maharajah, salaam.” And raising his hands above his head, he bowed down almost to the ground. “I didn’t know you were such a grandee.”
“Never mind what I am, sir, and have the goodness to keep your place.”
“Yes, my lord. Salaam maha—”
“Stop!” cried Ned, angrily. “I don’t want you to do that tomfoolery to me.”
The lad made a grimace, and meekly crossed his hands upon his breast.
“Now, sir, have the goodness to tell me why I was a jolly fool, and so green, as you call it. Pity people can’t teach you foreigners something better than slang. Now then—answer.”
“Well, to go and stand under that tree with a croc stalking you.”
“Croc stalking you? What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know the river’s full of crocodiles?”
“I know there are some there.”
“Some!” cried the lad. “Why, it’s as full as a pond is of sticklebacks.”
Ned stared at these words, coming out of eastern lips.
“Why, when they krissed a fellow this morning, and tumbled him into the river, Dilloo Dee says one of them snatched the body under directly. He told me just now. Didn’t you see that one coming at you?”
“I saw a big fish under the lotus-leaves.”
“Big fisherman you mean. Poof!” cried the boy, bursting into a roar of laughter, “it was a great croc, and I was just in time to knock you out of the way. I thought he would have got you, he made such a rush.”
“Did—did you see him?” said Ned, turning a little white.
“Only got a glimpse of his wet scales; but I knew he was there stalking you, by that monkey scolding him. Oh my! how the little beggars do hate a croc.”
“Then—then, you saved my life, and I didn’t know it,” said Ned.
“Eh? Well, I s’pose I did, for if he had pulled you down, I don’t suppose we should ever have seen you again.”
“Ugh!” shuddered Ned. “How horrid. What a dreadful country this is.”
“Get out! I like it.”
“But tell me: would that thing have dragged me in?”
“To be sure he would. Why, it’s only two days since he pulled a girl into the water. She’d only gone down to wash a sarong.”
“Is it a big one?” asked Ned, after gazing in a horrified way at his companion.
“Oh yes! a whacker—fifty or sixty feet long.”
“Nonsense!”
“Well then, fifteen or twenty. I know it’s a big one. One of our men—Dilloo, I think it was—saw him one day ashore. Look here, old chap, tell you what. We’ll get some of the fellows to lend us a rope with a loose end, and a hook, and we’ll set a night-line for the beggar, and catch him. What do you say?”
“I should like to, if we stay here.”
“Oh, you’ll stay here,” said the lad, laughing. “Like fishing?”
“Passionately.”
“So do I. Caught two dozen yesterday after I met you. I say, you and your uncle are bird and butterfly cocks, aren’t you?”
“My uncle is a naturalist, and I help him,” said Ned, rather stiffly, for this easy-going address from a young Malay, who had evidently passed all his life among English people, annoyed him. “But I say, what a knowledge you have of English.”
“Oh yes, I know some English,” said the lad, laughing.
“And Malay?”
“Oh, pretty tidy. I don’t jabber, but I can make the beggars understand me right enough. What’s your name? Murray, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But the other? Tom—Dick—Harry?”
“Edward.”
“Oh, where are you going to, Edward Gray? What is it? That’s wrong. What does old Tennyson say? Hullo! what’s the matter?”
“I—that is—” stammered Ned—“some mistake. You speak English so well.”
“Of course I do.”
“But what is your name?”
“Frank Braine.”
“Then you are not the Tumongong’s son?”
“Tumon grandmother’s—ha! ha! What a game! Oh, I see now! I forgot that I was in nigger togs. You took me for one of them.”
“Of course I did.”
“Well, it’s a rum one. Won’t father laugh! That’s why you were so cocky at first?”
“Yes, I didn’t know you were Mr Braine’s son. You are, aren’t you?”
“Course I am. Been out here two years now. I was at Marlborough—school you know—and I’d got the whiffles or something so bad, the doctor said I should die if I wasn’t sent to a warm climate. They sent a letter to the dad, and it was nine months getting to him. Ma says he was in a taking till he’d got a despatch sent down to Singapore, to be dillygraphed home to England for me to come here directly. He couldn’t fetch me, you know. The ould one, as Tim calls him, wouldn’t let him go. You know him?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they sent me out, and after they’d carried me on board, the captain of the steamer told one of the passengers that it was a shame to have sent me, for I should die before I was half-way out. It made me so wild, that I squeaked out that he didn’t know what he was talking about, and he’d better mind his own business. And he didn’t either, for I began to get better directly, and the old skipper shook hands with me, and was as pleased as could be, one day just before we got to Singapore; for I had climbed up into the foretop and laughed at him, I’d got so much stronger. Then I had to go up to Malacca, and there old Bang-gong met me.”
“Who?”
“Tumongong, and brought me up here, and now I’m as strong as you are.”
“Yes, you look wonderfully brown and well.”
“And you took me for a nigger! What a game!”
“Of course it was very stupid of me.”
“Oh, I don’t know. But, I say, I am glad you’ve come. You won’t be able to go away again, but that don’t matter. It’s a jolly place, and you and I and old Tim will go shooting and fishing, and—I say—I shall come with you and your uncle collecting specimens.”
“I hope so,” said Ned, who began to like his new acquaintance. “But don’t you feel as if you are a prisoner here?”
“No; not a bit. I go where I like. Old Jamjah knows I shan’t run away from my people.”
“Jamjar?”
“That’s only my fun. I call him the Rajah of Jamjah sometimes, because he’s such a beggar to eat sweets. He asks me sometimes to go and see him, and then we have a jam feed. I’m pretty tidy that way, but he beats me hollow. Perhaps he’ll ask you some day, and if he takes to you and likes you, he gives you all sorts of things, for he’s tremendously rich, and always getting more. He wants to find gold and emeralds and rubies if he can, to make him richer, but none of his people have the gumption to look in the right place.”
“That’s why he wants my uncle to go on expeditions then.”
“To be sure it is; and if he finds a mine or two for the old boy, he’ll make Mr Murray a rich man.”
Ned looked at him thoughtfully, while the boy chattered on.
“He gave me these silk things I’ve got on, and lots more. It pleases him to wear ’em. Make some of my old form chaps laugh if they saw me, I know; but they’re very comfortable when you’re used to them, and its safer to wear ’em when you go amongst strangers, too. He gave me this kris,” continued the lad, uncovering the hilt, which was wrapped in the waist-folds of his showy plaid sarong. “That’s the way to wear it. That means peace if its covered up. If you see a fellow with his kris in his waist uncovered, that means war, so cock your pistol and look out.”
As he spoke he drew out the weapon from his waistband and handed it to Ned.
“That handle’s ivory, and they do all that metal-work fine.”
“Why, all that working and ornament is gold.”
“To be sure it is. Pull it out: there’s more gold on the blade.”
Ned took hold of the handle and drew the little weapon from its light-coloured wood sheath to find that it was very broad just at the hilt, and rapidly curved down to a narrow, wavy or flame shaped blade, roughly sharp on both edges, and running down to a very fine point. It was not polished and clear like European steel, but dull, rough, and dead, full of a curious-looking grain, as if two or three different kinds of metal had been welded together, while up near the hilt there was a beautiful arabesque pattern in gold.
“Ugh!” said Ned, returning it to its sheath; “it’s a nasty-looking thing. Is it poisoned?”
“Not it. A thing like that doesn’t want any poison upon it.”
“But krises are poisoned.”
“I never saw one that was, and father says he never did. He has asked several of the big men here about them, and they always laugh and say it is nonsense; that the only poison in them is given by a good strong arm. Everybody wears a kris here,” he continued, as he returned the weapon to his waistband. “Perhaps old Jamjah will give you one.”
“I don’t want one,” said Ned. Then, suddenly, “It seems a stupid sort of handle, doesn’t it?”
“Yes; more like a pistol, but they like it, and they know how to use it too. I say, I hope the old chap will ask you too, next time he asks me. It’s capital fun, for you can hear all his wives whispering together behind the mat curtains, and they get peeping at you while you’re having all the good things, and are longing to join in, but they mustn’t be seen by a giaour, or the son of a giaour, as they call me. I say, if you like I’ll talk to the old fellow about you, and then he’s sure to ask you.”
“No, don’t please,” replied Ned. “I nearly burst out laughing when I saw him yesterday.”
“I say, it’s precious lucky for you that you didn’t. He’d never have forgiven you. Had he got on his grand uniform? Yes, he would have, to show himself off, and he does look comic in it too. You see it was made for him at a guess in London; and, my! it is rum to see him straddling about in it sometimes. He’s just like a peacock, and as proud of his feathers. But if you had laughed it would have been horrible. So mind what you are about, for he’s sure to ask you some day, and he’ll call you ‘goo-ood boy’ if you eat enough. I taught the old cock parrot to say that. But, I say, aren’t you getting hungry?”
“Yes,” said Ned, quickly, for that seemed to account for a faint feeling from which he suffered.
“So am I. Daresay the old croc is,” said the lad, grinning.
“Oh!” cried Ned, offering his hand, “I am grateful to you for that.”
“Stuff! That’s all right.”
“I shall never be able to repay you.”
“How do you know? Some day you’ll catch an elephant putting me in his trunk, or one of our prize striped torn tigers carrying me off, like a cat and a mouse. Then it will be your turn. Come on and have breakfast with us.”
“No, I can’t leave my uncle.”
“Then I’ll come and have breakfast with you. Old Jamjah will send you your rations, and they will be good till you offend him. Then you’d better look out for squalls.”
“What do you mean?”
“Poison. But old Barnes will put you up to some dodges to keep that off, I daresay. Yes, I am hungry. Come on.”
Chapter Nine.Ned loses his Hat.The two lads had grown in an hour as intimate as if they had been friends for months, and they were chatting away together as they approached Murray’s house, where Hamet was standing looking out.“Hah!” he cried; “you are here. The master has been looking for you, and is gone again.”“Here he comes!” cried Ned’s new companion, taking off and waving his cap as Murray came striding up, looked strangely at the Resident’s son, and then turned to his nephew.“I was getting anxious about you,” he said. “Keep by me, my boy. Come along to breakfast. We are going up the river directly after. Mr Braine has been to say we are to go on with our work at once, and land and examine some hills about ten miles up.”“I know,” said Ned’s companion, “Gunong Bu.”Murray turned upon him sharply, but the lad was in nowise abashed.“I’ll go with you, and show you. I know the way through the jungle. There’s an old path. I’ve been—”“Thank you,” said Murray, coldly. “Come, my boy, the breakfast has all been sent on by the rajah.”“I knew he would send,” said their visitor. “You keep friends with him, and you’ll see how civil he can be.”Murray frowned a little; and, amused by his uncle being deceived as he had himself been, Ned said quietly, “he has come to breakfast with us, uncle.”“It is very kind of him,” said Murray, coldly; “but he might have waited till he was asked.”“And then you wouldn’t have asked me. I say, you; he thinks like you did, that I’m a nigger.”“Well,” said Murray, quickly, “are you not a Malay, in spite of your perfect English?”“Of course not, sir; I’m Frank Braine.”“My dear sir, I beg your pardon,” cried Murray. “You should have told me, Ned. Come in, my lads, I’m getting sharp-set;” and directly after, they were seated, eastern fashion, cross-legged on the mat, which was spread with Malay luxuries, prominent among which was some excellent coffee, and a hearty meal was made, with the Resident’s son as much at home as if he had been a very old friend; and hardly was it ended, when Mr Braine appeared.“Ah, Frank,” he said, smiling; “not long making yourself at home, I see. The boat’s ready, Mr Murray,” he continued, “and plenty of provisions on board. I daresay you will get some new birds and insects on your way, and the rajah hopes you will make some discovery up in the hills.”“He seems reasonable,” said Murray, laughing. “What would he like first—a gold-mine?”“Oh, you must humour him, and then you will have plenty of opportunity for your own work. Will you want an interpreter beside your own man?”“No,” said Frank, quietly. “I’m going with them, father.”“You, my boy? Oh, very well, only try not to be rash; though I don’t suppose you will have any adventures. You know, I suppose, that we have tiger and elephant about here, so take a rifle in case you meet big game.”The men were waiting below, and they were soon after despatched with Hamet to carry guns, ammunition, and the other impedimenta of a naturalist who is an enthusiastic collector. The gentlemen followed soon after, Mr Braine seeing them down to the boat, which proved to be a handsome naga, fully manned. The crew were well-armed, and as Ned glanced at their faces he, little observant as he was in such matters, could note that they were a strong, fierce-looking, determined party, who would stand at nothing their leader set them to do.There was a friendly wave of the hand, followed by that of a couple of pocket handkerchiefs, as the boat swung out into the stream and began rapidly to ascend, for the doctor and his ladies had just strolled down to the bamboo jetty, but too late to see the party off.“I say, don’t do that,” cried Frank, quickly, as Ned hung one arm over the side of the boat, and let the cool water run through his fingers.“Of course not. I forgot Hamet did tell me.”“There’s a chap at the next place with only one arm. He was hanging over the side of a boat holding his line with his hand, and a croc snapped it right off.”“Is that a traveller’s tale, squire?” said Murray, drily.“No, it isn’t,” said the boy, frowning. “You don’t believe it? Ask him there if a croc didn’t nearly seize him this morning.”“What!” cried Murray.“Yes, uncle,” said Ned. “It was so, and Frank Braine snatched me away just in time.”“Oh, get out! I only pushed you out of his way. They are nasty beggars.”He turned to the Malay guard and said a few words, to which a chorus which sounded like assent came at once.“They say you have to be very careful, for the crocs kill a good many people every year.”“Then we will be very careful,” said Murray; “and I beg your pardon for doubting you.”“Oh, that don’t matter.”“And let me thank you for helping Ned here this morning.”“That’s nothing,” cried Frank, hastily. “Hi! Abdul!” he shouted to one of the rowers; and he hurried from beneath, the mat awning overhead, amongst the crew to the man in the bows, evidently to avoid listening to further thanks, and sat down to go on talking to the Malay, whose heavy stolid face lit up as he listened.“So you had quite an adventure?” said Murray.“Yes, uncle,” replied Ned; and he then went on to tell of the horrible scene he had witnessed.Murray listened with his brows knit, and then after sitting thoughtful and silent for some minutes: “Mr Braine and the doctor have not exaggerated the situation, Ned,” he said. “Well, my lad, we must make the best of it. I daresay we can spend a month here advantageously, but we must be careful not to upset the rajah, for, though he can be a capital friend, and send us out collecting in this royal way, it is evident that he can prove a very dangerous enemy. You see he is a man who has the power of life and death in his hands, and does not hesitate about using it. We are beyond help from the settlement, and unmistakably his prisoners.”“Well, I don’t mind being a prisoner, uncle, if he is going to treat us like this.”“Good, lad. I’ll take a leaf out of your book, and make the best of things. This is quite new ground for a naturalist, so let’s set aside all worry about where we are, and think only of the wonderful objects about us.”Ned was already following out that plan, and wishing his uncle would not worry about other things, for they were riding at a pretty good rate up the clear sparkling river, and passing scene after scene of tropic loveliness that excited a constant desire in the boy to go ashore and roam amongst grand trees of the loveliest tints of green, all different from anything he had seen before.Just then Frank came back.“Got your shooting tackle ready?” he said.“No, but I was thinking it was time,” replied Murray, “and that we might as well land directly we see a bird or two. I want to get all the specimens I can.”“Land!” said Frank, with a merry laugh; “land here?”“Yes; not to go any distance. Just for a ramble, and then return to the boat.”“But you couldn’t, nor yet for miles farther on.”“Why? The country on either bank looks lovely.”“The trees do, but that’s all jungle.”“Well, I see that,” said Murray, rather impatiently.“But you don’t know what our jungle is, sir. You couldn’t get a dozen yards any way.”“The trees are not so thick as that.”“No, but the undergrowth is, and it’s all laced together, and bound with prickly canes, so that at every step you must have men to go before you with their parangs to chop and clear the way.”“Is a parang a chopper?”“They chop with it,” replied Frank. “It’s the sword thing the men carry to cut down the wild vines and canes with.”“Do you mean to say we couldn’t get through there?” said Ned.“Yes, of course I do. Like to try? I did when I first came. Why, in five minutes you’d be horribly scratched, and your clothes torn half off your back, and you so hot you couldn’t bear yourself.”Cock-a-doodle-do!It was a peculiar broken spasmodic crow from some little distance in the jungle, and Ned turned upon the Resident’s son, laughingly: “Why, there must be a road there to that farm or cottage and back.”There was an answering crow from farther away.“Is there a village close by?” asked Murray.“If there was a village, it would be here,” said Frank, showing his white teeth. “This is the high-road of the country, and the villages are all on the rivers.”“But there must be people who keep fowls in there.”“Yes,” said Frank, merrily; “Mother Nature does. Those are jungle cocks crowing. I say, look out. Don’t you want one of those?”He pointed to where a lovely bluish bird, with a long tail ending in oval disks like tiny tennis racquets, was seated some distance ahead upon a bare branch; but almost as he spoke the bird took flight, and went right on, up the river like a flash of blue light.“Never mind; you’ll have plenty more chances, and you’ll soon know as much about the place as I do.”The guns were brought out of their woollen bags and charged, and the boat glided on, steered closer in to one bank now, so as to give the naturalist a better chance of a shot; with the result that he brought down in the course of the next two hours, as they followed the winding course of the river, shut in on both sides by the tall flower-decked trees, two brilliant racquet-tailed kingfishers, a pink-breasted dove, and a tiny sunbird, decked in feathers that seemed to have been bronzed and burnished with metallic tints of ruby, purple, and gold.These were carefully picked up from the water in which they fell, laid in the sun to dry their feathers, and then put aside for preparation that evening. After this specimens were seen of gorgeously painted butterflies, one being evidently seven or eight inches across, but capture was out of the question, and Ned watched them longingly as they flitted across the stream.“I can take you where you can catch them,” said Frank; “along by the edge of the jungle where the rice-fields are; only the worst of butterfly catching there is, that a tiger may fly out and butter you, as they do the men sometimes who are at work over the rice.”“Not a pleasant way of butterfly hunting, I must say,” said Murray, who, gun in hand, was watching the edge of the jungle. “What’s the matter?”For the men had suddenly ceased rowing, and the naga glided slowly on, diminishing in speed till it was stationary, and then, yielding to the influence of the stream, began to glide back.Meanwhile an excited conversation was going on between the principal boatman and Frank Braine, the former pointing up into a huge tree whose boughs overhung the river, their tips almost touching the surface, and naturally both Murray and Ned gazed up too.“What is it—a monkey or a bird?” said Ned, eagerly.“Yes, I see it now,” said Frank. Then, telling the men in Malay to keep the boat stationary, he turned to Murray: “Here’s a shot for you, sir. I couldn’t see it at first. Their eyes are sharper than ours. Wait a minute till the boat’s right. That’s it. Stop now, both of you look right in through that opening among the leaves, and you’ll see it on a branch.”“What, some handsome bird?”“No; something that’s been up there after the birds or monkeys. Do you see? Look where I’m pointing.”“I am looking there,” said Ned, eagerly; “but I can only see a great creeper all curled about and twisted in knots where it looks quite dark.”“Well, that’s it,” said Frank, laughing; “that great creeper. See it, Mr Murray?”“Yes, I see it now. Wait till I change the cartridge for bigger shot.”“Yes; use your biggest for him,” whispered Frank; and Ned looked on wonderingly, refraining from asking questions, for he was met by an imperious “Hush!”“I can’t see what he means, I suppose,” thought Ned; and he watched eagerly now as Murray suddenly took aim and fired.Then for a few moments there was a violent rustling and breaking of twigs, and something heavy fell with a great splash beyond the screen of leaves formed by the lowermost drooping branches.“You hit him!” cried Frank, excitedly, and he gave an order to the men, who rowed in under the drooping boughs.“Now quick, the other barrel!” cried the lad. “See him? Too late. He’s gone!”“I couldn’t get a good sight of him,” said Murray.“But what was it?”“A great serpent. He glided out of the river in amongst those bushes.”“Could we follow if the boat were rowed right in?”Frank shook his head.“Impossible,” he said; and the boat was pulled out and began once more to ascend the stream.“How big was it?” said Ned, as the incident was discussed.“Impossible to say,” replied Murray; “but I should say fifteen or sixteen feet long, and as large round as your leg.”Another hour’s steady pulling up against the stream brought them to quite a change in the character of the river-banks. One side had the jungle as before, but on the other the forest receded more and more, till they gazed across a park-like plain dotted with clumps of huge trees, and rising more and more till a range of hills towered up looking wonderfully beautiful, wooded as they were to the summit.This meant a tramp, and the boat was run up beneath some trees, to one of which it was moored, while two of the guard busied themselves in spreading refreshments beneath the awning in a business-like way, which suggested that they had been used to such tasks before.“Rather hot for a long walk,” said Frank, when the meal was finished; “but I don’t mind, if you don’t.”Murray smiled with the calm contempt for heat usually displayed by an Englishman, took his gun and stepped ashore, followed by the boys, to find that half a dozen men armed with spears followed them, one stepping forward to act as guide, but after a few words from Frank, going back to his place with the rest.“Now then,” he said, “what’s it to be—birds or beasts?”“Birds to-day,” replied Murray.“There you go then—a big one,” cried the lad, as with a rushing, heavy beating sound of its wings, a great bird flow directly over their heads, uttering a hoarse cry, and with its huge curved bill bearing a curious, nearly square, excrescence on the top, plainly seen as the bird approached.“Why didn’t you shoot?” cried Frank, as the bird went off unscathed. “Why, I believe, I could have hit that.”“For the simple reason that I did not want to encumber myself with a bird I have had before.”“Oh, I see. There are lots of those about here, and I’ve found their nests.”“What sort of a nest is it?” asked Ned. “Anything like a magpie’s?”“No!” cried Frank; “not a bit. Big as they are, they build like a tomtit does, right in a hollow tree, but the one I saw had only laid one egg, and a tomtit lays lots. It was in the trunk of a great worm-eaten tree, and the hen bird was shut in, for the cock had filled the entrance-hole with clay, all but a bit big enough for the hen to put out her beak to be fed. What’s that?”Murray had fired and brought down a gaily-feathered bird, green, scarlet, and orange, and with a sharp wedge-shaped beak fringed with sharp bristles.“A barbet,” said Murray, giving the bird to one of the men to carry; “but like your hornbill, too common to be worth preserving.”Other birds fell to Murray’s gun as they went on. A trogon was the next, a thickly-feathered soft-looking bird, yoke-toed like a cuckoo, and bearing great resemblance in shape to the nightjar of the English woods, but wonderfully different in plumage; for, whereas the latter is of a soft blending of greys and browns, like the wings of some woodland moths, this trogon’s back was of a cinnamon brown, and its breast of a light rosy-scarlet blending off into white crossed with fine dark-pencilled stripes.The next was rather a common bird, though none the less beautiful in its claret-coloured plumage; but the striking part of the bird was its gaily-coloured beak of orange and vivid blue.The tramp in the broiling sunshine was so full of interest now, that Ned forgot the labour, and eagerly kept pace with his uncle, the Malays following closely behind, and carrying the specimens willingly enough, but with their swarthy faces wearing rather a contemptuous look for the man who, in preference to a quiet siesta beneath a tree, chose to tramp on beneath the burning sun for the sake of a few uneatable birds.“I say,” cried Frank, “I’ll tell you of a bird you ought to shoot. Hist—hist!”He made energetic signs to them to lie down among the low bushes through which they were passing.He was obeyed at once, and most quickly by the Malays, who crouched down, spear in hand, like an ambush in waiting for something far more important than the two birds of which the lad had caught sight in a narrow glade of a park-like patch of trees they were approaching, but which now remained invisible.“Well,” said Murray, after waiting patiently for some few minutes with his gun cocked, “what did you see?”“Two birds you ought to have shot,” the lad whispered back, “but they must have seen us. No; look. Go on first; creep to those bushes.”He pointed to the edge of the clump, from out of which came slowly, with stately movement, a couple of long-necked birds, one of which carried behind him an enormous train of feathers which flashed in the brilliant sunshine.Murray needed no second hint, but crept carefully forward, taking advantage of every bush and tree which afforded him shelter, while the rest remained in concealment eagerly awaiting the result; even the Malays looking excited, with their soft dark eyes glowing and their heads craned forward.Murray soon reduced the distance between him and the birds—quite a quarter of a mile—and it seemed as if he would easily stalk them; but while he was a full hundred yards away, something seemed to have startled the game, which rose at once and made for the open, yet just in the midst of the disappointment felt at the waste of energy over the stalk, they curved round so as to make for the shelter of the trees, passing between the watchers and Murray.“Never mind,” said Frank, “he’ll have another chance.” Bang! following upon a puff of smoke, and the bird with the long train stopped in its flight, shot up a few yards, and then fell motionless.Ned uttered a cheer, and the whole party hurried forward, to reach the prize some time after Murray, who had reloaded and was carefully smoothing the bird’s plumage.“A long shot, Ned,” he said. “That must have been fully eighty yards. It was the large shot did it. There, you never saw a peacock like that.”“Yes,” cried Ned, “often.”“No, my lad; look again.”“Well, it is a little different. The neck’s green.”“Yes, instead of blue. That’s the Javanese peacock, and a splendid specimen. We’ll hang this up till our return. Anything likely to touch it if we hang it on a branch?”“No, I think not, sir,” replied Frank; and after the bird had been carefully suspended fully six feet from the ground, the party walked on, to find that the ground was beginning to rise steadily, an indication of their nearing the hills.“So that’s the bird you wanted me to find, was it?” said Murray, after a long silent tramp, for the bush had grown rather dense.“Oh no. The birds I mean only come out of a night. I’ve only seen two since I’ve been here, but you can hear them often in the jungle.”“Owls?”“Oh no; pheasants, father says they are. Birds with tremendously long tails, and wings all over great spots like a peacock’s, only brown.”“Argus pheasants,” said Murray, quietly. “Yes, I must try and get some specimens of them.”The ground began to rise more rapidly now, till it was quite a climb through open forest, very different to the dense jungle by the river-side. The ground, too, had become stony, with great gray masses projecting here and there, and still they rose higher and higher, till, hot and breathless, they stopped in a narrow gorge to look back at the narrow plain they had crossed, just beyond which, and fringed on the far side by the dark jungle, they could see the river winding along like a ribbon of silver.There were several umbrageous trees here, and the air was so fresh and comparatively cool that it was decided to halt now for an hour to rest. Then, after a good look round had been taken, Murray suggested that they should return by another route to where the peacock had been hung, after which they could go direct to the boat.The Malays lay down and began preparing fresh pieces of betel-nut to chew; but Murray’s rest was short, and jumping up again, he took a geological hammer from his belt, and began to crack and chip the stones and masses of rock which peered from the barren-looking ground, the two boys, one of whom carried the gun, watching him intently.“Plenty of quartz, Ned,” said Murray. “Quite possible that one might find gold here.”As he spoke, he broke a piece of gray stone which he had hooked out from among the grass, and laid in a convenient place. A quick ejaculation came from his lips, and Frank cried excitedly, “Why, you haven’t found gold?”“No, my lad, but I have found a valuable metal. Look!”He handed the broken halves of the stone to the boys, while the Malays crouched together, chewed away at their betel, and watched them.“Well,” said Ned, “I don’t see any valuable metal. Do you?”Frank shook his head.“That is a fairly rich piece of ore too,” said Murray. “Don’t you see those little black grains running through the quartz?”“No. These are all standing still,” said Frank, laughing.“Facetious, eh?” said Murray, smiling. “Well, those black grains are tin.”“Oh, they do get tin somewhere up the river,” said Frank, eagerly; “but it isn’t a bit like this.”“But it is like what this would be if it were smelted, young gentleman,” cried Murray; “and, judging from appearances, I should say that the rajah could get tin enough in these hills to make him as wealthy as he likes.”“He ought to be satisfied, then, with what you have done, uncle,” said Ned.“But he will not be, my boy. He will not care to set up works, and he’ll want us to try again for something better. There, we’ll take our specimens to show to Mr Braine, and start back now. Give me the gun, and I’ll go in the centre, and you two shall walk on either side of me, say fifty yards or so distant. You may beat up some specimens, and give me a better chance. Ask the men to keep about a hundred yards behind us.”Frank went and spoke to the men, and told them what was about to be done, and they rose, took their spears and waited while the boys started off to right and left, Murray waiting till they had guessed their distances, and then at his signal, a low whistle, the start was made for the river, down the steep slope, and bearing off so as to leave their outward track on their left.It was a laborious descent, and Ned found the path he had to follow encumbered by loose gray stones, and full of gins and traps, in the shape of narrow cracks in the rock, and bramble-like canes ever ready to trip him up. However, fortunately, the trees and bushes were pretty open on that dry hill-side, and he could pick his way. But there was no shot, and he saw no sign of bird or reptile; only a few butterflies which started up from among the dry herbage, and went flapping away among the trees.Once or twice he heard the crackling of twigs on his left, and once he fancied that he could hear the Malays coming on behind him; but he was not sure, and he toiled on, bathed in perspiration, thinking how wonderfully still everything was out there, and how loud the rustling noise was he made with his boots in forcing his way through the scrub.All at once, just as he was thinking what a likely place that steep stony hill-side looked for snakes, a magnificent butterfly sprang up within a yard or two of his feet, and as he stopped short, he saw it go fluttering on in a zigzag fashion, and then pounce down all at once, only a little way on before him, and right in the direction he had to go.“I don’t see why I shouldn’t have a specimen too,” he said to himself, as, regardless of the heat, he took off his straw hat, and crept silently on with his eyes fixed upon the spot where the beautiful insect had disappeared. He was within a yard of it, with upraised hat ready to strike, when it darted up, and he made a bound forward, striking downward with his hat at the same time.The result was unexpected. Ned’s step was on to nothing, and, letting go of his hat, he uttered a cry of horror as he felt himself falling through bushes, and then sliding along with an avalanche of stones, apparently right away into the bowels of the earth, and vainly trying to check himself by stretching out his hands.One moment he saw the light dimmed by the green growth over the mouth of the opening, the next he was in utter darkness, and gliding down rapidly for what seemed, in his horror and confusion, a long period. Then all at once the rattling, echoing noise of falling stones ceased, and so did his progress, as he found himself, scratched and sore, lying on his side upon a heap of stones, some of which were right over his legs. It did not take him long to extricate himself, and stand upright with his hands resting on a cold rocky wall, and as he stood there in the darkness, he obeyed his first impulse, which was to shout for help. But at every cry he uttered there was so terrible a reverberation and echo, that he ceased, and began to try to climb back up the great crack to the light of day.To his horror and despair he soon found that such a climb would be impossible in the darkness, and as a flood of terrible thoughts threatened to sweep away his reason, and he saw himself dying slowly there from starvation, it seemed to him that it was not quite so dark as he thought, and peering before him, he felt about with hand and foot, and changed his position slowly, finding that the stones beneath him were pretty level till he made one unlucky step on a loose flat piece, which began to glide rapidly down. Although he tried hard to save himself, he slipped and rolled again for some distance before he could check his way, when he sat up with his heart bounding with joy, for, about a hundred yards or so before him, he could see a rough opening laced over by branches, through which gleamed the sunlight.And now, as he cautiously made his way toward the light, he began to realise that he was in a rough rift or chasm in the rock, whose floor descended at about the same rate as the hill-slope; and five minutes after, he forced his passage out through the bushes which choked the entrance, to hear, away on his left, a distant “cooey.”He answered at once, and went on descending the hill, thinking how strange his adventure had been, and that after all it was only a bit of a fright, and that he had come part of the way underground, instead of above.And now the heat of the sun reminded him that he had lost his hat, and he stopped short with the intention of going back, but another shout on his left warned him that he must proceed or he might be lost.“And perhaps the Malays may find it,” he argued; so tying his handkerchief over his head with a great leaf inside, he trudged on, answering the “cooeys” from time to time, till he drew nearer, and at last, in obedience to a whistle, joined his uncle about the same time as Frank.“Nothing to show,” cried the former. “I say, Ned, you got too far away. I thought at one time I’d lost you. Why, where’s your hat?”“Lost it,” replied the boy, looking toward Frank as he spoke.That young gentleman was laughing at him, and this so roused Ned’s ire, sore and smarting as he was, that he did not attempt to make any explanation of his mishap, feeling assured that he would only be laughed at the more, for not looking which way he went.They were all beginning to feel the effect of their walk in the hot sun, and in consequence they trudged back rather silently to where the peacock had been hung, and this was borne in triumph back to the boat, where the rest of the men were patiently awaiting their return.“Wonder what they’ve got ready for us,” said Frank, rousing up a little as they came near the river.“Got ready? What, refreshments? Will they have anything?”“There’ll be a tremendous uproar if they have not,” cried Frank. “The rajah is a regular old pirate, as my father says, and he helps himself to whatever he fancies from everybody round, but there’s nothing stingy about him as you’ll find.”The lad was quite right in his surmises respecting refreshments, for the men had quite a pleasant little repast spread, and most welcome of all, a great piece of bamboo, about five feet long, hanging from the side of the boat in the full sunshine, with one end swaying in the river.“Look at that!” cried Frank. “Know what that is?”“A very thick piece of bamboo.”“Yes, but what’s in it?”“I did not know anything was in it.”“But you will know directly. That’s the big decanter, with a whole lot of deliriously cool drink in it. I don’t know what it is, only that it’s the old chap’s favourite tipple, and it’s precious good.”“Is it wine?”“Oh no; at least perhaps they call it wine. It’s somehow made with the sap out of the palm-trees, with cocoa-nut milk and fruit juice. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. As soon as you get your lips to a cup of it, you don’t want anybody to talk to you till it’s done.”Ned soon had an opportunity of putting the contents of the bamboo to the test, and he quite agreed with Frank’s description, for it was delicious after the long hot walk, and they all sat enjoying their meal as the boat glided rapidly down stream now, the men merely dipping their oars from time to time to keep her head straight. They had spent a far longer time than Ned had expected, and the sun was sinking behind the jungle as the village was reached, and they disembarked, Hamet being ready to bear the spoils of the day up to the house, where Murray intended to commence preparing the skins at once, but found that Mr Braine was in waiting to insist upon the two newcomers dining with him at his place.“Never mind them,” he cried, as Murray pointed to his specimens; “you can get hundreds more at any time, and Barnes and his people will be horribly disappointed if you do not come.”To Ned’s great satisfaction his uncle gave way, for he felt no great disposition to begin an unpleasant task after so hard a day, and the result was that after a change they went up to the Resident’s house, to reach there just at the same time as the doctor, his wife, and daughter.
The two lads had grown in an hour as intimate as if they had been friends for months, and they were chatting away together as they approached Murray’s house, where Hamet was standing looking out.
“Hah!” he cried; “you are here. The master has been looking for you, and is gone again.”
“Here he comes!” cried Ned’s new companion, taking off and waving his cap as Murray came striding up, looked strangely at the Resident’s son, and then turned to his nephew.
“I was getting anxious about you,” he said. “Keep by me, my boy. Come along to breakfast. We are going up the river directly after. Mr Braine has been to say we are to go on with our work at once, and land and examine some hills about ten miles up.”
“I know,” said Ned’s companion, “Gunong Bu.”
Murray turned upon him sharply, but the lad was in nowise abashed.
“I’ll go with you, and show you. I know the way through the jungle. There’s an old path. I’ve been—”
“Thank you,” said Murray, coldly. “Come, my boy, the breakfast has all been sent on by the rajah.”
“I knew he would send,” said their visitor. “You keep friends with him, and you’ll see how civil he can be.”
Murray frowned a little; and, amused by his uncle being deceived as he had himself been, Ned said quietly, “he has come to breakfast with us, uncle.”
“It is very kind of him,” said Murray, coldly; “but he might have waited till he was asked.”
“And then you wouldn’t have asked me. I say, you; he thinks like you did, that I’m a nigger.”
“Well,” said Murray, quickly, “are you not a Malay, in spite of your perfect English?”
“Of course not, sir; I’m Frank Braine.”
“My dear sir, I beg your pardon,” cried Murray. “You should have told me, Ned. Come in, my lads, I’m getting sharp-set;” and directly after, they were seated, eastern fashion, cross-legged on the mat, which was spread with Malay luxuries, prominent among which was some excellent coffee, and a hearty meal was made, with the Resident’s son as much at home as if he had been a very old friend; and hardly was it ended, when Mr Braine appeared.
“Ah, Frank,” he said, smiling; “not long making yourself at home, I see. The boat’s ready, Mr Murray,” he continued, “and plenty of provisions on board. I daresay you will get some new birds and insects on your way, and the rajah hopes you will make some discovery up in the hills.”
“He seems reasonable,” said Murray, laughing. “What would he like first—a gold-mine?”
“Oh, you must humour him, and then you will have plenty of opportunity for your own work. Will you want an interpreter beside your own man?”
“No,” said Frank, quietly. “I’m going with them, father.”
“You, my boy? Oh, very well, only try not to be rash; though I don’t suppose you will have any adventures. You know, I suppose, that we have tiger and elephant about here, so take a rifle in case you meet big game.”
The men were waiting below, and they were soon after despatched with Hamet to carry guns, ammunition, and the other impedimenta of a naturalist who is an enthusiastic collector. The gentlemen followed soon after, Mr Braine seeing them down to the boat, which proved to be a handsome naga, fully manned. The crew were well-armed, and as Ned glanced at their faces he, little observant as he was in such matters, could note that they were a strong, fierce-looking, determined party, who would stand at nothing their leader set them to do.
There was a friendly wave of the hand, followed by that of a couple of pocket handkerchiefs, as the boat swung out into the stream and began rapidly to ascend, for the doctor and his ladies had just strolled down to the bamboo jetty, but too late to see the party off.
“I say, don’t do that,” cried Frank, quickly, as Ned hung one arm over the side of the boat, and let the cool water run through his fingers.
“Of course not. I forgot Hamet did tell me.”
“There’s a chap at the next place with only one arm. He was hanging over the side of a boat holding his line with his hand, and a croc snapped it right off.”
“Is that a traveller’s tale, squire?” said Murray, drily.
“No, it isn’t,” said the boy, frowning. “You don’t believe it? Ask him there if a croc didn’t nearly seize him this morning.”
“What!” cried Murray.
“Yes, uncle,” said Ned. “It was so, and Frank Braine snatched me away just in time.”
“Oh, get out! I only pushed you out of his way. They are nasty beggars.”
He turned to the Malay guard and said a few words, to which a chorus which sounded like assent came at once.
“They say you have to be very careful, for the crocs kill a good many people every year.”
“Then we will be very careful,” said Murray; “and I beg your pardon for doubting you.”
“Oh, that don’t matter.”
“And let me thank you for helping Ned here this morning.”
“That’s nothing,” cried Frank, hastily. “Hi! Abdul!” he shouted to one of the rowers; and he hurried from beneath, the mat awning overhead, amongst the crew to the man in the bows, evidently to avoid listening to further thanks, and sat down to go on talking to the Malay, whose heavy stolid face lit up as he listened.
“So you had quite an adventure?” said Murray.
“Yes, uncle,” replied Ned; and he then went on to tell of the horrible scene he had witnessed.
Murray listened with his brows knit, and then after sitting thoughtful and silent for some minutes: “Mr Braine and the doctor have not exaggerated the situation, Ned,” he said. “Well, my lad, we must make the best of it. I daresay we can spend a month here advantageously, but we must be careful not to upset the rajah, for, though he can be a capital friend, and send us out collecting in this royal way, it is evident that he can prove a very dangerous enemy. You see he is a man who has the power of life and death in his hands, and does not hesitate about using it. We are beyond help from the settlement, and unmistakably his prisoners.”
“Well, I don’t mind being a prisoner, uncle, if he is going to treat us like this.”
“Good, lad. I’ll take a leaf out of your book, and make the best of things. This is quite new ground for a naturalist, so let’s set aside all worry about where we are, and think only of the wonderful objects about us.”
Ned was already following out that plan, and wishing his uncle would not worry about other things, for they were riding at a pretty good rate up the clear sparkling river, and passing scene after scene of tropic loveliness that excited a constant desire in the boy to go ashore and roam amongst grand trees of the loveliest tints of green, all different from anything he had seen before.
Just then Frank came back.
“Got your shooting tackle ready?” he said.
“No, but I was thinking it was time,” replied Murray, “and that we might as well land directly we see a bird or two. I want to get all the specimens I can.”
“Land!” said Frank, with a merry laugh; “land here?”
“Yes; not to go any distance. Just for a ramble, and then return to the boat.”
“But you couldn’t, nor yet for miles farther on.”
“Why? The country on either bank looks lovely.”
“The trees do, but that’s all jungle.”
“Well, I see that,” said Murray, rather impatiently.
“But you don’t know what our jungle is, sir. You couldn’t get a dozen yards any way.”
“The trees are not so thick as that.”
“No, but the undergrowth is, and it’s all laced together, and bound with prickly canes, so that at every step you must have men to go before you with their parangs to chop and clear the way.”
“Is a parang a chopper?”
“They chop with it,” replied Frank. “It’s the sword thing the men carry to cut down the wild vines and canes with.”
“Do you mean to say we couldn’t get through there?” said Ned.
“Yes, of course I do. Like to try? I did when I first came. Why, in five minutes you’d be horribly scratched, and your clothes torn half off your back, and you so hot you couldn’t bear yourself.”
Cock-a-doodle-do!
It was a peculiar broken spasmodic crow from some little distance in the jungle, and Ned turned upon the Resident’s son, laughingly: “Why, there must be a road there to that farm or cottage and back.”
There was an answering crow from farther away.
“Is there a village close by?” asked Murray.
“If there was a village, it would be here,” said Frank, showing his white teeth. “This is the high-road of the country, and the villages are all on the rivers.”
“But there must be people who keep fowls in there.”
“Yes,” said Frank, merrily; “Mother Nature does. Those are jungle cocks crowing. I say, look out. Don’t you want one of those?”
He pointed to where a lovely bluish bird, with a long tail ending in oval disks like tiny tennis racquets, was seated some distance ahead upon a bare branch; but almost as he spoke the bird took flight, and went right on, up the river like a flash of blue light.
“Never mind; you’ll have plenty more chances, and you’ll soon know as much about the place as I do.”
The guns were brought out of their woollen bags and charged, and the boat glided on, steered closer in to one bank now, so as to give the naturalist a better chance of a shot; with the result that he brought down in the course of the next two hours, as they followed the winding course of the river, shut in on both sides by the tall flower-decked trees, two brilliant racquet-tailed kingfishers, a pink-breasted dove, and a tiny sunbird, decked in feathers that seemed to have been bronzed and burnished with metallic tints of ruby, purple, and gold.
These were carefully picked up from the water in which they fell, laid in the sun to dry their feathers, and then put aside for preparation that evening. After this specimens were seen of gorgeously painted butterflies, one being evidently seven or eight inches across, but capture was out of the question, and Ned watched them longingly as they flitted across the stream.
“I can take you where you can catch them,” said Frank; “along by the edge of the jungle where the rice-fields are; only the worst of butterfly catching there is, that a tiger may fly out and butter you, as they do the men sometimes who are at work over the rice.”
“Not a pleasant way of butterfly hunting, I must say,” said Murray, who, gun in hand, was watching the edge of the jungle. “What’s the matter?”
For the men had suddenly ceased rowing, and the naga glided slowly on, diminishing in speed till it was stationary, and then, yielding to the influence of the stream, began to glide back.
Meanwhile an excited conversation was going on between the principal boatman and Frank Braine, the former pointing up into a huge tree whose boughs overhung the river, their tips almost touching the surface, and naturally both Murray and Ned gazed up too.
“What is it—a monkey or a bird?” said Ned, eagerly.
“Yes, I see it now,” said Frank. Then, telling the men in Malay to keep the boat stationary, he turned to Murray: “Here’s a shot for you, sir. I couldn’t see it at first. Their eyes are sharper than ours. Wait a minute till the boat’s right. That’s it. Stop now, both of you look right in through that opening among the leaves, and you’ll see it on a branch.”
“What, some handsome bird?”
“No; something that’s been up there after the birds or monkeys. Do you see? Look where I’m pointing.”
“I am looking there,” said Ned, eagerly; “but I can only see a great creeper all curled about and twisted in knots where it looks quite dark.”
“Well, that’s it,” said Frank, laughing; “that great creeper. See it, Mr Murray?”
“Yes, I see it now. Wait till I change the cartridge for bigger shot.”
“Yes; use your biggest for him,” whispered Frank; and Ned looked on wonderingly, refraining from asking questions, for he was met by an imperious “Hush!”
“I can’t see what he means, I suppose,” thought Ned; and he watched eagerly now as Murray suddenly took aim and fired.
Then for a few moments there was a violent rustling and breaking of twigs, and something heavy fell with a great splash beyond the screen of leaves formed by the lowermost drooping branches.
“You hit him!” cried Frank, excitedly, and he gave an order to the men, who rowed in under the drooping boughs.
“Now quick, the other barrel!” cried the lad. “See him? Too late. He’s gone!”
“I couldn’t get a good sight of him,” said Murray.
“But what was it?”
“A great serpent. He glided out of the river in amongst those bushes.”
“Could we follow if the boat were rowed right in?”
Frank shook his head.
“Impossible,” he said; and the boat was pulled out and began once more to ascend the stream.
“How big was it?” said Ned, as the incident was discussed.
“Impossible to say,” replied Murray; “but I should say fifteen or sixteen feet long, and as large round as your leg.”
Another hour’s steady pulling up against the stream brought them to quite a change in the character of the river-banks. One side had the jungle as before, but on the other the forest receded more and more, till they gazed across a park-like plain dotted with clumps of huge trees, and rising more and more till a range of hills towered up looking wonderfully beautiful, wooded as they were to the summit.
This meant a tramp, and the boat was run up beneath some trees, to one of which it was moored, while two of the guard busied themselves in spreading refreshments beneath the awning in a business-like way, which suggested that they had been used to such tasks before.
“Rather hot for a long walk,” said Frank, when the meal was finished; “but I don’t mind, if you don’t.”
Murray smiled with the calm contempt for heat usually displayed by an Englishman, took his gun and stepped ashore, followed by the boys, to find that half a dozen men armed with spears followed them, one stepping forward to act as guide, but after a few words from Frank, going back to his place with the rest.
“Now then,” he said, “what’s it to be—birds or beasts?”
“Birds to-day,” replied Murray.
“There you go then—a big one,” cried the lad, as with a rushing, heavy beating sound of its wings, a great bird flow directly over their heads, uttering a hoarse cry, and with its huge curved bill bearing a curious, nearly square, excrescence on the top, plainly seen as the bird approached.
“Why didn’t you shoot?” cried Frank, as the bird went off unscathed. “Why, I believe, I could have hit that.”
“For the simple reason that I did not want to encumber myself with a bird I have had before.”
“Oh, I see. There are lots of those about here, and I’ve found their nests.”
“What sort of a nest is it?” asked Ned. “Anything like a magpie’s?”
“No!” cried Frank; “not a bit. Big as they are, they build like a tomtit does, right in a hollow tree, but the one I saw had only laid one egg, and a tomtit lays lots. It was in the trunk of a great worm-eaten tree, and the hen bird was shut in, for the cock had filled the entrance-hole with clay, all but a bit big enough for the hen to put out her beak to be fed. What’s that?”
Murray had fired and brought down a gaily-feathered bird, green, scarlet, and orange, and with a sharp wedge-shaped beak fringed with sharp bristles.
“A barbet,” said Murray, giving the bird to one of the men to carry; “but like your hornbill, too common to be worth preserving.”
Other birds fell to Murray’s gun as they went on. A trogon was the next, a thickly-feathered soft-looking bird, yoke-toed like a cuckoo, and bearing great resemblance in shape to the nightjar of the English woods, but wonderfully different in plumage; for, whereas the latter is of a soft blending of greys and browns, like the wings of some woodland moths, this trogon’s back was of a cinnamon brown, and its breast of a light rosy-scarlet blending off into white crossed with fine dark-pencilled stripes.
The next was rather a common bird, though none the less beautiful in its claret-coloured plumage; but the striking part of the bird was its gaily-coloured beak of orange and vivid blue.
The tramp in the broiling sunshine was so full of interest now, that Ned forgot the labour, and eagerly kept pace with his uncle, the Malays following closely behind, and carrying the specimens willingly enough, but with their swarthy faces wearing rather a contemptuous look for the man who, in preference to a quiet siesta beneath a tree, chose to tramp on beneath the burning sun for the sake of a few uneatable birds.
“I say,” cried Frank, “I’ll tell you of a bird you ought to shoot. Hist—hist!”
He made energetic signs to them to lie down among the low bushes through which they were passing.
He was obeyed at once, and most quickly by the Malays, who crouched down, spear in hand, like an ambush in waiting for something far more important than the two birds of which the lad had caught sight in a narrow glade of a park-like patch of trees they were approaching, but which now remained invisible.
“Well,” said Murray, after waiting patiently for some few minutes with his gun cocked, “what did you see?”
“Two birds you ought to have shot,” the lad whispered back, “but they must have seen us. No; look. Go on first; creep to those bushes.”
He pointed to the edge of the clump, from out of which came slowly, with stately movement, a couple of long-necked birds, one of which carried behind him an enormous train of feathers which flashed in the brilliant sunshine.
Murray needed no second hint, but crept carefully forward, taking advantage of every bush and tree which afforded him shelter, while the rest remained in concealment eagerly awaiting the result; even the Malays looking excited, with their soft dark eyes glowing and their heads craned forward.
Murray soon reduced the distance between him and the birds—quite a quarter of a mile—and it seemed as if he would easily stalk them; but while he was a full hundred yards away, something seemed to have startled the game, which rose at once and made for the open, yet just in the midst of the disappointment felt at the waste of energy over the stalk, they curved round so as to make for the shelter of the trees, passing between the watchers and Murray.
“Never mind,” said Frank, “he’ll have another chance.” Bang! following upon a puff of smoke, and the bird with the long train stopped in its flight, shot up a few yards, and then fell motionless.
Ned uttered a cheer, and the whole party hurried forward, to reach the prize some time after Murray, who had reloaded and was carefully smoothing the bird’s plumage.
“A long shot, Ned,” he said. “That must have been fully eighty yards. It was the large shot did it. There, you never saw a peacock like that.”
“Yes,” cried Ned, “often.”
“No, my lad; look again.”
“Well, it is a little different. The neck’s green.”
“Yes, instead of blue. That’s the Javanese peacock, and a splendid specimen. We’ll hang this up till our return. Anything likely to touch it if we hang it on a branch?”
“No, I think not, sir,” replied Frank; and after the bird had been carefully suspended fully six feet from the ground, the party walked on, to find that the ground was beginning to rise steadily, an indication of their nearing the hills.
“So that’s the bird you wanted me to find, was it?” said Murray, after a long silent tramp, for the bush had grown rather dense.
“Oh no. The birds I mean only come out of a night. I’ve only seen two since I’ve been here, but you can hear them often in the jungle.”
“Owls?”
“Oh no; pheasants, father says they are. Birds with tremendously long tails, and wings all over great spots like a peacock’s, only brown.”
“Argus pheasants,” said Murray, quietly. “Yes, I must try and get some specimens of them.”
The ground began to rise more rapidly now, till it was quite a climb through open forest, very different to the dense jungle by the river-side. The ground, too, had become stony, with great gray masses projecting here and there, and still they rose higher and higher, till, hot and breathless, they stopped in a narrow gorge to look back at the narrow plain they had crossed, just beyond which, and fringed on the far side by the dark jungle, they could see the river winding along like a ribbon of silver.
There were several umbrageous trees here, and the air was so fresh and comparatively cool that it was decided to halt now for an hour to rest. Then, after a good look round had been taken, Murray suggested that they should return by another route to where the peacock had been hung, after which they could go direct to the boat.
The Malays lay down and began preparing fresh pieces of betel-nut to chew; but Murray’s rest was short, and jumping up again, he took a geological hammer from his belt, and began to crack and chip the stones and masses of rock which peered from the barren-looking ground, the two boys, one of whom carried the gun, watching him intently.
“Plenty of quartz, Ned,” said Murray. “Quite possible that one might find gold here.”
As he spoke, he broke a piece of gray stone which he had hooked out from among the grass, and laid in a convenient place. A quick ejaculation came from his lips, and Frank cried excitedly, “Why, you haven’t found gold?”
“No, my lad, but I have found a valuable metal. Look!”
He handed the broken halves of the stone to the boys, while the Malays crouched together, chewed away at their betel, and watched them.
“Well,” said Ned, “I don’t see any valuable metal. Do you?”
Frank shook his head.
“That is a fairly rich piece of ore too,” said Murray. “Don’t you see those little black grains running through the quartz?”
“No. These are all standing still,” said Frank, laughing.
“Facetious, eh?” said Murray, smiling. “Well, those black grains are tin.”
“Oh, they do get tin somewhere up the river,” said Frank, eagerly; “but it isn’t a bit like this.”
“But it is like what this would be if it were smelted, young gentleman,” cried Murray; “and, judging from appearances, I should say that the rajah could get tin enough in these hills to make him as wealthy as he likes.”
“He ought to be satisfied, then, with what you have done, uncle,” said Ned.
“But he will not be, my boy. He will not care to set up works, and he’ll want us to try again for something better. There, we’ll take our specimens to show to Mr Braine, and start back now. Give me the gun, and I’ll go in the centre, and you two shall walk on either side of me, say fifty yards or so distant. You may beat up some specimens, and give me a better chance. Ask the men to keep about a hundred yards behind us.”
Frank went and spoke to the men, and told them what was about to be done, and they rose, took their spears and waited while the boys started off to right and left, Murray waiting till they had guessed their distances, and then at his signal, a low whistle, the start was made for the river, down the steep slope, and bearing off so as to leave their outward track on their left.
It was a laborious descent, and Ned found the path he had to follow encumbered by loose gray stones, and full of gins and traps, in the shape of narrow cracks in the rock, and bramble-like canes ever ready to trip him up. However, fortunately, the trees and bushes were pretty open on that dry hill-side, and he could pick his way. But there was no shot, and he saw no sign of bird or reptile; only a few butterflies which started up from among the dry herbage, and went flapping away among the trees.
Once or twice he heard the crackling of twigs on his left, and once he fancied that he could hear the Malays coming on behind him; but he was not sure, and he toiled on, bathed in perspiration, thinking how wonderfully still everything was out there, and how loud the rustling noise was he made with his boots in forcing his way through the scrub.
All at once, just as he was thinking what a likely place that steep stony hill-side looked for snakes, a magnificent butterfly sprang up within a yard or two of his feet, and as he stopped short, he saw it go fluttering on in a zigzag fashion, and then pounce down all at once, only a little way on before him, and right in the direction he had to go.
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t have a specimen too,” he said to himself, as, regardless of the heat, he took off his straw hat, and crept silently on with his eyes fixed upon the spot where the beautiful insect had disappeared. He was within a yard of it, with upraised hat ready to strike, when it darted up, and he made a bound forward, striking downward with his hat at the same time.
The result was unexpected. Ned’s step was on to nothing, and, letting go of his hat, he uttered a cry of horror as he felt himself falling through bushes, and then sliding along with an avalanche of stones, apparently right away into the bowels of the earth, and vainly trying to check himself by stretching out his hands.
One moment he saw the light dimmed by the green growth over the mouth of the opening, the next he was in utter darkness, and gliding down rapidly for what seemed, in his horror and confusion, a long period. Then all at once the rattling, echoing noise of falling stones ceased, and so did his progress, as he found himself, scratched and sore, lying on his side upon a heap of stones, some of which were right over his legs. It did not take him long to extricate himself, and stand upright with his hands resting on a cold rocky wall, and as he stood there in the darkness, he obeyed his first impulse, which was to shout for help. But at every cry he uttered there was so terrible a reverberation and echo, that he ceased, and began to try to climb back up the great crack to the light of day.
To his horror and despair he soon found that such a climb would be impossible in the darkness, and as a flood of terrible thoughts threatened to sweep away his reason, and he saw himself dying slowly there from starvation, it seemed to him that it was not quite so dark as he thought, and peering before him, he felt about with hand and foot, and changed his position slowly, finding that the stones beneath him were pretty level till he made one unlucky step on a loose flat piece, which began to glide rapidly down. Although he tried hard to save himself, he slipped and rolled again for some distance before he could check his way, when he sat up with his heart bounding with joy, for, about a hundred yards or so before him, he could see a rough opening laced over by branches, through which gleamed the sunlight.
And now, as he cautiously made his way toward the light, he began to realise that he was in a rough rift or chasm in the rock, whose floor descended at about the same rate as the hill-slope; and five minutes after, he forced his passage out through the bushes which choked the entrance, to hear, away on his left, a distant “cooey.”
He answered at once, and went on descending the hill, thinking how strange his adventure had been, and that after all it was only a bit of a fright, and that he had come part of the way underground, instead of above.
And now the heat of the sun reminded him that he had lost his hat, and he stopped short with the intention of going back, but another shout on his left warned him that he must proceed or he might be lost.
“And perhaps the Malays may find it,” he argued; so tying his handkerchief over his head with a great leaf inside, he trudged on, answering the “cooeys” from time to time, till he drew nearer, and at last, in obedience to a whistle, joined his uncle about the same time as Frank.
“Nothing to show,” cried the former. “I say, Ned, you got too far away. I thought at one time I’d lost you. Why, where’s your hat?”
“Lost it,” replied the boy, looking toward Frank as he spoke.
That young gentleman was laughing at him, and this so roused Ned’s ire, sore and smarting as he was, that he did not attempt to make any explanation of his mishap, feeling assured that he would only be laughed at the more, for not looking which way he went.
They were all beginning to feel the effect of their walk in the hot sun, and in consequence they trudged back rather silently to where the peacock had been hung, and this was borne in triumph back to the boat, where the rest of the men were patiently awaiting their return.
“Wonder what they’ve got ready for us,” said Frank, rousing up a little as they came near the river.
“Got ready? What, refreshments? Will they have anything?”
“There’ll be a tremendous uproar if they have not,” cried Frank. “The rajah is a regular old pirate, as my father says, and he helps himself to whatever he fancies from everybody round, but there’s nothing stingy about him as you’ll find.”
The lad was quite right in his surmises respecting refreshments, for the men had quite a pleasant little repast spread, and most welcome of all, a great piece of bamboo, about five feet long, hanging from the side of the boat in the full sunshine, with one end swaying in the river.
“Look at that!” cried Frank. “Know what that is?”
“A very thick piece of bamboo.”
“Yes, but what’s in it?”
“I did not know anything was in it.”
“But you will know directly. That’s the big decanter, with a whole lot of deliriously cool drink in it. I don’t know what it is, only that it’s the old chap’s favourite tipple, and it’s precious good.”
“Is it wine?”
“Oh no; at least perhaps they call it wine. It’s somehow made with the sap out of the palm-trees, with cocoa-nut milk and fruit juice. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. As soon as you get your lips to a cup of it, you don’t want anybody to talk to you till it’s done.”
Ned soon had an opportunity of putting the contents of the bamboo to the test, and he quite agreed with Frank’s description, for it was delicious after the long hot walk, and they all sat enjoying their meal as the boat glided rapidly down stream now, the men merely dipping their oars from time to time to keep her head straight. They had spent a far longer time than Ned had expected, and the sun was sinking behind the jungle as the village was reached, and they disembarked, Hamet being ready to bear the spoils of the day up to the house, where Murray intended to commence preparing the skins at once, but found that Mr Braine was in waiting to insist upon the two newcomers dining with him at his place.
“Never mind them,” he cried, as Murray pointed to his specimens; “you can get hundreds more at any time, and Barnes and his people will be horribly disappointed if you do not come.”
To Ned’s great satisfaction his uncle gave way, for he felt no great disposition to begin an unpleasant task after so hard a day, and the result was that after a change they went up to the Resident’s house, to reach there just at the same time as the doctor, his wife, and daughter.
Chapter Ten.A Serious Complication.In a few weeks all thought of considering themselves as prisoners was forgotten, and Murray and Ned were as busy as it was possible to be in that hot steamy climate.There was, however, one point about which Murray made a complaint, and spoke to Mr Braine upon the subject, and that was the presence of armed men as guards; for wherever they went, even if it was from one end of the village to the other, there were these quiet dark sentinels, and so sure as either Murray or his nephew came to the conclusion that they were alone, the next moment one of the men would be seen pretty close at hand.“Never mind, uncle,” Ned said, laughingly; “the sun always shines here, so one must expect to have shadows.”“But I don’t like it, Ned; it worries me,” said his uncle; and as stated he complained to Mr Braine, who promised to speak to the rajah, and two days later came to the house where its occupants were busy skinning and drying their specimens.“The rajah has sent me to ask if he can do anything more for you, Murray,” said their visitor. “He has been saying again that he is delighted with your discovery of the tin, and that he shall some day set men to work mining and smelting, but he hopes you will persevere, and discover a good vein of gold. You are to speak as soon as you are ready for a long expedition, and the elephants will be brought up.”“Let’s go soon, uncle,” said Ned. “I want to have an elephant ride.”“Patience, patience, boy. There, that’s not such a bad imitation of life, is it?” said Murray, holding out a beautiful amethystine-looking kingfisher.“Capital!” said Mr Braine, smiling at the enthusiasm his new friend brought to bear in his pursuit.“Do for us?” said Murray, thoughtfully; “do for us? No, I think not. He is wonderfully civil; feeds us too well; the attention we get is excellent, and you people treat us as if we were your brothers.”“You are satisfied, then?” said Mr Braine.“Yes, I think so; eh, Ned?”“I am enjoying it thoroughly,” replied the latter.“Oh yes, of course. So long as you can be always off on some prank or another with Braine’s unbroken colt. It suits you, you lazy young dog.”“Oh, uncle, what a shame! Frank and I have brought you in some splendid specimens.”“Well, pretty tidy; but that rare trogon’s tail feathers were wanting in the three central pens.”“We’ll get you another, then,” cried Ned.“You like the place, then?” said Mr Braine.“Like it, sir! I never imagined being a prisoner was half so good.”“Ah yes—prisoners,” said Murray, looking up from his work, which he was still pursuing in spite of the arrival of his visitor. “Here! hi! Hamet!”“Yes, master.”“Go and turn those skins over carefully, and put them out of the sun. They are drying too fast.”“Yes, master.”“Yes; prisoners,” continued Murray. “You did not take my message to the rajah about those spearmen always following us about.”“I did, and that was my principal reason for coming and interrupting you this morning.”“Ah!” cried Murray, looking up with an unfortunate bird turned inside out in one hand, and a brush laden with preserving paste in the other; “what did he say?”“That he esteemed the visit and presence of so great a scientific man too highly to run any risk of his coming to harm. That many of his people were not so enlightened as those about the court, and were likely to resent the presence of an Englishman.”“And boy,” said Ned in an undertone.“And boy,” said Mr Braine, smiling; “and that he would die of grief if anything happened to you; whereas, if harm happened when you had your guard, he could punish them?”“Poor wretches!” said Murray, brushing away at his bird-skin. “Soft soap. Gammon, Braine. He is afraid that we shall slip off, eh?”“Yes; that is the plain English of the matter.”“And the men are to follow us still.”“Yes. You must put up with it.”“Ah, well, the place is so rich that I will not grumble. I must say that the men are never too attentive, and it would be unpleasant if we were to be speared and krissed; eh, Ned?”“And skinned and preserved as specimens of the English for his highness’s museum,” said Ned, quietly, as he carefully drew the skin of a lovely blue and drab thrush over its skull.“No one to do it,” said Mr Braine, laughing.“Well, I shall not grumble again,” continued Murray. “Tell him we’ll go soon right up to the hills through the jungle, and that I’ll try and find him a gold-mine. You were quite right, Braine; we could not have done better for natural history if we could have gone where we liked.”“I am sure you couldn’t.”“Ladies quite well—Mrs Braine and the Barnes’s and Greigs?”“Yes; but complaining that you do not visit us all more often.”“Very good of them, but I must get on with my work.”“And I with mine.”“Oh, don’t hurry away. Stop and smoke a cigar. How’s that boy of yours?”“Quite well, thank you, Mr Murray.”They looked up sharply, and there was Frank standing in the veranda looking in.“Hullo! busy, Ned?”“Yes. Two more birds to do.”“Oh, what a bother! I want you particularly. I say, Mr Murray, why don’t you let Amy Barnes skin these little tiny sun-birds? It wants some one with pretty little fingers like hers.”“Because, sir, it is not fit work for a lady,” replied Murray, shortly.“Ha, ha! what a game! Why, she asked me to get her a few, and I set that one-eyed chap to knock some down with a sumpitan—you know, Ned, a blowpipe, and she has had six these last three days, and skinned them all beautifully. She gave me one to show me how well she could do it. Here, where did I stick the thing?”He began searching his pockets, and ended by dragging out a rough tuft of glistening metallic feathers, at which he looked down with a comical expression of countenance.“A delightful specimen,” said Murray, grimly.“Yes, now. But it was beautiful when she showed it to me. I oughtn’t to have put it in my pocket, I suppose. But, I say, Mr Murray, can’t you spare Ned?”“What do you want him for, Frank?” said his father.“To try for that big croc that hangs about the river half-way between here and the stockade. He has just taken another poor girl, father.”“What!” cried Mr Braine, with a look of horror.“I only just heard of it. She was reaching over to pick lotus-leaves close by, where you were so nearly caught, Ned.”“Eh?” cried Murray, looking up sharply. “Oh yes, I remember, and you are thinking of trying to shoot this monster?”“No; going to catch him,” said Frank.“You two boys?”“They will have some of the men to help them,” said Mr Braine. “The brute ought to be destroyed.”“Why don’t your rajah do it?”“Because he does nothing that does not tend toward his pleasure or prosperity,” replied Mr Braine, bitterly. “Have you made any preparations, Frank?”“Yes, father; we’re all ready. Only waiting for Ned.”He gave the latter a merry look as he spoke.“Like to go?” said Murray.“I don’t like to leave you so busy, uncle, and seem to neglect preparing the specimens.”“But that would be getting another specimen,” said Frank, merrily. “Mr Murray may have it when it’s caught, mayn’t he, father?”“You go along with you, sir,” cried Murray, with mock sternness. “You are spoiling my boy here. Be off with you, and mind and don’t get into any danger. Here, you Ned, go and wash your fingers well first. Don’t neglect that after using the paste.”Five minutes after, the two lads were off toward the bank of the river near where the rajah’s stockade was situated—a strongly-palisaded place commanding the river, and within which four of the light brass guns known as lelahs were mounted. Mere popguns in the eyes of a naval officer, but big enough, to awe people who traded up and down the river in boats, and whose one or two pound balls or handfuls of rough shot and rugged scraps of iron and nails were awkward enemies for the slight timbers of a good-sized prahu.“There will not be any danger for the boys, eh?” said Murray, looking up at where Mr Braine stood thoughtfully smoking his cigar.“Oh no; they will have quite a little party of active men with them, ready to despatch the brute with their spears if they are lucky enough to catch him; but that is very doubtful.”He relapsed into silence, and Murray went on busily with his work, for he had had a successful shooting trip on the previous afternoon, and was trying to make up for it before his specimens decayed, as they did rapidly in that hot climate. He was so intent upon his task as he sat at the rough bamboo work-table he had rigged up, that for a time he forgot the presence of his silent visitor, till, looking up suddenly he saw that Mr Braine was gazing thoughtfully before him in a rapt and dreamy way.“Anything the matter?” he said.Mr Braine started, looked at his cigar, which was out, and proceeded to relight it.“No—yes,” he said slowly; “I was thinking.”“What about? No, no. I beg pardon. Like my impudence to ask you.”“No. It is quite right,” said Mr Braine, slowly, and with his brow knit. “You are one of us now, and in a little knot of English people situated as we are, there ought to be full confidence and good-fellowship so that we could help each other in distress.”“Yes, of course,” said Murray, laying down his work. “But, my dear fellow, don’t be so mysterious. You are in trouble. What is wrong?”Mr Braine walked to the door to see that Hamet was out of hearing, and then returning, he said in a low voice: “Look here, Murray; it is of no use to mince matters; we are all prisoners here, at the mercy of as scoundrelly a tyrant as ever had power to make himself a scourge to the district round.”“Well, it is as well to call a spade a spade,” said Murray.“Both Barnes and I were doing badly, and we were tempted by the offers we received from the rajah, and certainly I must own that, from a worldly point of view, we have both prospered far better here than we could have done in an English settlement. But we are not free agents. We never know what mine may be sprung upon us, nor how the chief people among the rajah’s followers may be affected toward us through petty jealousies.”“I see—I see,” said Murray.“So far we have got on well. For years and years Barnes, who is very clever in his profession, has made himself indispensable to the rajah, and has also gained some very good friends by the way in which he has treated different chiefs and their families in serious illnesses, and for accidents and wounds. While on my part, though mine is a less satisfactory position, I have by firmness and strict justice gained the respect of the rajah’s fighting men, whom I have drilled to a fair state of perfection, and the friendship of the various chiefs by acting like an honourable Englishman, and regardless of my own safety, interceding for them when they have offended their master, so that now they always come to me as their counsellor and friend, and I am the only man here who dares to tell the tyrant he is unjust.”“I see your position exactly,” said Murray; “but what is behind all this. What is wrong?”“Perhaps nothing—imagination, may be, and I don’t know that I should have spoken to you yet, if it had not been for an admission—I should say a remark, made by my son just now.”“I do not understand you. What did he say?”“That Miss Barnes—Amy—had been devoting herself to the preparation of some of the tiny gems of our forests.”“Yes, yes, and very strange behaviour on the part of a young lady too.”“I do not see it,” said the Resident, gravely. “She is a very sweet, true-hearted, handsome womanly girl. Let me see: she is past one and twenty now, and has always displayed a great liking for natural history.”“Yes, of course,” said Murray, hurriedly. “The collection of butterflies and beetles she showed me is most creditable.”“And it is only natural that, situated as she is, a prisoner in these wilds, she should be much attracted by the companionship of a gentleman of similar tastes, and of wide experience and knowledge.”“Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” said Murray, fidgeting. “She has been very patient and kind of an evening in listening to me, though I am afraid I have often bored her terribly with my long-winded twaddle about ornithology and botany.”“I can vouch for it you have not, and also that you have caused great disappointment when you have not come and joined us.”“Oh, fancy, my dear sir,” said Murray, tugging at his great brown beard, and colouring like a girl; “your imagination.”“It is her father’s, her mother’s, the Greigs’ and my wife’s imagination too; and this experiment of hers—commenced directly after you had been telling us all how difficult you found it with your big fingers to manipulate the tiny sun-birds—confirms what we thought.”“My dear sir, what nonsense!” cried Murray, sweeping a bird-skin off the table in his confusion, as he snatched up his pipe, lit it, and began to smoke. “I talked like that because I wanted that idle young scamp, Ned, to devote his fingers to the task. I had not the most remote idea that it would make a young lady commence such an uncongenial pursuit.”“Straws show which way the wind blows.”“Look here, sir,” cried Murray, jumping up, and making the bamboo floor creak as he strode up and down. “I am not such a fool or so blind as not to comprehend what you mean. Miss Amy Barnes is a very sweet, amiable young lady.”“Far more so than you think,” said Mr Braine, warmly. “She is a good daughter—a dear girl, whom I love as well as if she were my own child. I shall never forget the way in which she devoted herself to my boy when he came out here, still weak, and a perfect skeleton, and it is my tender affection for the girl that makes me speak as I do.”“Then, then—oh, I am very sorry—very sorry indeed,” cried Murray. “I wish to goodness I had never come. It is nonsense, madness, impossible. I am nearly forty—that is over four and thirty. I am a confirmed bachelor, and I would not be so idiotically conceited as to imagine, sir, that the young lady could have even a passing fancy for such a dry-as-dust student as myself. I tell you honestly, sir, I have never once spoken to the lady but as a gentleman, a slight friend of her father, would.”“My dear Murray, we have only known you a few weeks, but that has been long enough to make us esteem and trust—”“Exactly; and it is preposterous.”“That means, you could never care for the lady well enough to ask her to be your wife?”“Never—certainly—never—impossible—that is—at least—no, no, no, quite impossible. I am a bookworm, a naturalist, and I shall never marry.”“I am sorry,” said Mr Braine, thoughtfully, “for, to be frank, I rather thought there was a growing liking on your part for Amy.”“A mistake, sir—a mistake, quite,” said Murray, warmly.“And it would have been a happy circumstance for us now, at this rather troublesome time.”“Eh? Troublesome? What do you mean? Is anything more the matter?”“Yes,” said Mr Braine, with his brow full of lines. “I may be wrong—we may be wrong. We have dreaded something of the kind might happen, but years have gone on, and we have had no occasion to think anything serious till now.”“You startle me. What do you mean?” said Murray, excitedly.“Well, you see the rajah is a Mussulman.”“Yes, of course. Allah, Mahomet, and so on.”“He has several wives.”“Yes, whom he keeps shut up like birds in a cage. Well, what of that?”“Last night we were all very much disturbed. It was before you came in.”“Ah! Yes, I noticed you were all very quiet. Why was it?”“The rajah had sent Amy a present. It was a magnificent specimen of goldsmith’s work—a large bangle of great value.”“Well?”“Gentlemen, especially eastern gentlemen, do not send such presents as that to ladies without having some ulterior object in view.”“What!” roared Murray, in so fierce a tone of voice that Hamet came running in.“Master call?”“No, no: go away. Nothing.—Here Braine, you horrify me. That old tyrant dare to—to think—to send her presents—to—oh, it is horrible. The old scoundrel! He to presume to—oh!”“We may be mistaken. It may be only a compliment.”“Nothing of the sort, sir. He meant an offer of marriage, which is sure to follow, and—oh, the insolent, tyrannical, old scoundrel!”Mr Braine looked at Murray with a grave smile.“This indignation’s all real?” he said.“Real? I could go and horsewhip him.”“Then you do care for Amy Barnes, in spite of your short acquaintance, Murray; and I tell you frankly I am very glad, for it may put a stop to a terrible complication, which might have risked all our lives.”Murray’s face was scarlet, and he stood looking at his visitor without a word, for in his heart of hearts he owned that he was right, and that out there, in those wild jungles, he, Johnstone Murray, naturalist, who had never thought of such a thing before, had found his fate.“Yes,” said Mr Braine again, thoughtfully, “a serious complication, which might have risked all our lives.”
In a few weeks all thought of considering themselves as prisoners was forgotten, and Murray and Ned were as busy as it was possible to be in that hot steamy climate.
There was, however, one point about which Murray made a complaint, and spoke to Mr Braine upon the subject, and that was the presence of armed men as guards; for wherever they went, even if it was from one end of the village to the other, there were these quiet dark sentinels, and so sure as either Murray or his nephew came to the conclusion that they were alone, the next moment one of the men would be seen pretty close at hand.
“Never mind, uncle,” Ned said, laughingly; “the sun always shines here, so one must expect to have shadows.”
“But I don’t like it, Ned; it worries me,” said his uncle; and as stated he complained to Mr Braine, who promised to speak to the rajah, and two days later came to the house where its occupants were busy skinning and drying their specimens.
“The rajah has sent me to ask if he can do anything more for you, Murray,” said their visitor. “He has been saying again that he is delighted with your discovery of the tin, and that he shall some day set men to work mining and smelting, but he hopes you will persevere, and discover a good vein of gold. You are to speak as soon as you are ready for a long expedition, and the elephants will be brought up.”
“Let’s go soon, uncle,” said Ned. “I want to have an elephant ride.”
“Patience, patience, boy. There, that’s not such a bad imitation of life, is it?” said Murray, holding out a beautiful amethystine-looking kingfisher.
“Capital!” said Mr Braine, smiling at the enthusiasm his new friend brought to bear in his pursuit.
“Do for us?” said Murray, thoughtfully; “do for us? No, I think not. He is wonderfully civil; feeds us too well; the attention we get is excellent, and you people treat us as if we were your brothers.”
“You are satisfied, then?” said Mr Braine.
“Yes, I think so; eh, Ned?”
“I am enjoying it thoroughly,” replied the latter.
“Oh yes, of course. So long as you can be always off on some prank or another with Braine’s unbroken colt. It suits you, you lazy young dog.”
“Oh, uncle, what a shame! Frank and I have brought you in some splendid specimens.”
“Well, pretty tidy; but that rare trogon’s tail feathers were wanting in the three central pens.”
“We’ll get you another, then,” cried Ned.
“You like the place, then?” said Mr Braine.
“Like it, sir! I never imagined being a prisoner was half so good.”
“Ah yes—prisoners,” said Murray, looking up from his work, which he was still pursuing in spite of the arrival of his visitor. “Here! hi! Hamet!”
“Yes, master.”
“Go and turn those skins over carefully, and put them out of the sun. They are drying too fast.”
“Yes, master.”
“Yes; prisoners,” continued Murray. “You did not take my message to the rajah about those spearmen always following us about.”
“I did, and that was my principal reason for coming and interrupting you this morning.”
“Ah!” cried Murray, looking up with an unfortunate bird turned inside out in one hand, and a brush laden with preserving paste in the other; “what did he say?”
“That he esteemed the visit and presence of so great a scientific man too highly to run any risk of his coming to harm. That many of his people were not so enlightened as those about the court, and were likely to resent the presence of an Englishman.”
“And boy,” said Ned in an undertone.
“And boy,” said Mr Braine, smiling; “and that he would die of grief if anything happened to you; whereas, if harm happened when you had your guard, he could punish them?”
“Poor wretches!” said Murray, brushing away at his bird-skin. “Soft soap. Gammon, Braine. He is afraid that we shall slip off, eh?”
“Yes; that is the plain English of the matter.”
“And the men are to follow us still.”
“Yes. You must put up with it.”
“Ah, well, the place is so rich that I will not grumble. I must say that the men are never too attentive, and it would be unpleasant if we were to be speared and krissed; eh, Ned?”
“And skinned and preserved as specimens of the English for his highness’s museum,” said Ned, quietly, as he carefully drew the skin of a lovely blue and drab thrush over its skull.
“No one to do it,” said Mr Braine, laughing.
“Well, I shall not grumble again,” continued Murray. “Tell him we’ll go soon right up to the hills through the jungle, and that I’ll try and find him a gold-mine. You were quite right, Braine; we could not have done better for natural history if we could have gone where we liked.”
“I am sure you couldn’t.”
“Ladies quite well—Mrs Braine and the Barnes’s and Greigs?”
“Yes; but complaining that you do not visit us all more often.”
“Very good of them, but I must get on with my work.”
“And I with mine.”
“Oh, don’t hurry away. Stop and smoke a cigar. How’s that boy of yours?”
“Quite well, thank you, Mr Murray.”
They looked up sharply, and there was Frank standing in the veranda looking in.
“Hullo! busy, Ned?”
“Yes. Two more birds to do.”
“Oh, what a bother! I want you particularly. I say, Mr Murray, why don’t you let Amy Barnes skin these little tiny sun-birds? It wants some one with pretty little fingers like hers.”
“Because, sir, it is not fit work for a lady,” replied Murray, shortly.
“Ha, ha! what a game! Why, she asked me to get her a few, and I set that one-eyed chap to knock some down with a sumpitan—you know, Ned, a blowpipe, and she has had six these last three days, and skinned them all beautifully. She gave me one to show me how well she could do it. Here, where did I stick the thing?”
He began searching his pockets, and ended by dragging out a rough tuft of glistening metallic feathers, at which he looked down with a comical expression of countenance.
“A delightful specimen,” said Murray, grimly.
“Yes, now. But it was beautiful when she showed it to me. I oughtn’t to have put it in my pocket, I suppose. But, I say, Mr Murray, can’t you spare Ned?”
“What do you want him for, Frank?” said his father.
“To try for that big croc that hangs about the river half-way between here and the stockade. He has just taken another poor girl, father.”
“What!” cried Mr Braine, with a look of horror.
“I only just heard of it. She was reaching over to pick lotus-leaves close by, where you were so nearly caught, Ned.”
“Eh?” cried Murray, looking up sharply. “Oh yes, I remember, and you are thinking of trying to shoot this monster?”
“No; going to catch him,” said Frank.
“You two boys?”
“They will have some of the men to help them,” said Mr Braine. “The brute ought to be destroyed.”
“Why don’t your rajah do it?”
“Because he does nothing that does not tend toward his pleasure or prosperity,” replied Mr Braine, bitterly. “Have you made any preparations, Frank?”
“Yes, father; we’re all ready. Only waiting for Ned.”
He gave the latter a merry look as he spoke.
“Like to go?” said Murray.
“I don’t like to leave you so busy, uncle, and seem to neglect preparing the specimens.”
“But that would be getting another specimen,” said Frank, merrily. “Mr Murray may have it when it’s caught, mayn’t he, father?”
“You go along with you, sir,” cried Murray, with mock sternness. “You are spoiling my boy here. Be off with you, and mind and don’t get into any danger. Here, you Ned, go and wash your fingers well first. Don’t neglect that after using the paste.”
Five minutes after, the two lads were off toward the bank of the river near where the rajah’s stockade was situated—a strongly-palisaded place commanding the river, and within which four of the light brass guns known as lelahs were mounted. Mere popguns in the eyes of a naval officer, but big enough, to awe people who traded up and down the river in boats, and whose one or two pound balls or handfuls of rough shot and rugged scraps of iron and nails were awkward enemies for the slight timbers of a good-sized prahu.
“There will not be any danger for the boys, eh?” said Murray, looking up at where Mr Braine stood thoughtfully smoking his cigar.
“Oh no; they will have quite a little party of active men with them, ready to despatch the brute with their spears if they are lucky enough to catch him; but that is very doubtful.”
He relapsed into silence, and Murray went on busily with his work, for he had had a successful shooting trip on the previous afternoon, and was trying to make up for it before his specimens decayed, as they did rapidly in that hot climate. He was so intent upon his task as he sat at the rough bamboo work-table he had rigged up, that for a time he forgot the presence of his silent visitor, till, looking up suddenly he saw that Mr Braine was gazing thoughtfully before him in a rapt and dreamy way.
“Anything the matter?” he said.
Mr Braine started, looked at his cigar, which was out, and proceeded to relight it.
“No—yes,” he said slowly; “I was thinking.”
“What about? No, no. I beg pardon. Like my impudence to ask you.”
“No. It is quite right,” said Mr Braine, slowly, and with his brow knit. “You are one of us now, and in a little knot of English people situated as we are, there ought to be full confidence and good-fellowship so that we could help each other in distress.”
“Yes, of course,” said Murray, laying down his work. “But, my dear fellow, don’t be so mysterious. You are in trouble. What is wrong?”
Mr Braine walked to the door to see that Hamet was out of hearing, and then returning, he said in a low voice: “Look here, Murray; it is of no use to mince matters; we are all prisoners here, at the mercy of as scoundrelly a tyrant as ever had power to make himself a scourge to the district round.”
“Well, it is as well to call a spade a spade,” said Murray.
“Both Barnes and I were doing badly, and we were tempted by the offers we received from the rajah, and certainly I must own that, from a worldly point of view, we have both prospered far better here than we could have done in an English settlement. But we are not free agents. We never know what mine may be sprung upon us, nor how the chief people among the rajah’s followers may be affected toward us through petty jealousies.”
“I see—I see,” said Murray.
“So far we have got on well. For years and years Barnes, who is very clever in his profession, has made himself indispensable to the rajah, and has also gained some very good friends by the way in which he has treated different chiefs and their families in serious illnesses, and for accidents and wounds. While on my part, though mine is a less satisfactory position, I have by firmness and strict justice gained the respect of the rajah’s fighting men, whom I have drilled to a fair state of perfection, and the friendship of the various chiefs by acting like an honourable Englishman, and regardless of my own safety, interceding for them when they have offended their master, so that now they always come to me as their counsellor and friend, and I am the only man here who dares to tell the tyrant he is unjust.”
“I see your position exactly,” said Murray; “but what is behind all this. What is wrong?”
“Perhaps nothing—imagination, may be, and I don’t know that I should have spoken to you yet, if it had not been for an admission—I should say a remark, made by my son just now.”
“I do not understand you. What did he say?”
“That Miss Barnes—Amy—had been devoting herself to the preparation of some of the tiny gems of our forests.”
“Yes, yes, and very strange behaviour on the part of a young lady too.”
“I do not see it,” said the Resident, gravely. “She is a very sweet, true-hearted, handsome womanly girl. Let me see: she is past one and twenty now, and has always displayed a great liking for natural history.”
“Yes, of course,” said Murray, hurriedly. “The collection of butterflies and beetles she showed me is most creditable.”
“And it is only natural that, situated as she is, a prisoner in these wilds, she should be much attracted by the companionship of a gentleman of similar tastes, and of wide experience and knowledge.”
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense!” said Murray, fidgeting. “She has been very patient and kind of an evening in listening to me, though I am afraid I have often bored her terribly with my long-winded twaddle about ornithology and botany.”
“I can vouch for it you have not, and also that you have caused great disappointment when you have not come and joined us.”
“Oh, fancy, my dear sir,” said Murray, tugging at his great brown beard, and colouring like a girl; “your imagination.”
“It is her father’s, her mother’s, the Greigs’ and my wife’s imagination too; and this experiment of hers—commenced directly after you had been telling us all how difficult you found it with your big fingers to manipulate the tiny sun-birds—confirms what we thought.”
“My dear sir, what nonsense!” cried Murray, sweeping a bird-skin off the table in his confusion, as he snatched up his pipe, lit it, and began to smoke. “I talked like that because I wanted that idle young scamp, Ned, to devote his fingers to the task. I had not the most remote idea that it would make a young lady commence such an uncongenial pursuit.”
“Straws show which way the wind blows.”
“Look here, sir,” cried Murray, jumping up, and making the bamboo floor creak as he strode up and down. “I am not such a fool or so blind as not to comprehend what you mean. Miss Amy Barnes is a very sweet, amiable young lady.”
“Far more so than you think,” said Mr Braine, warmly. “She is a good daughter—a dear girl, whom I love as well as if she were my own child. I shall never forget the way in which she devoted herself to my boy when he came out here, still weak, and a perfect skeleton, and it is my tender affection for the girl that makes me speak as I do.”
“Then, then—oh, I am very sorry—very sorry indeed,” cried Murray. “I wish to goodness I had never come. It is nonsense, madness, impossible. I am nearly forty—that is over four and thirty. I am a confirmed bachelor, and I would not be so idiotically conceited as to imagine, sir, that the young lady could have even a passing fancy for such a dry-as-dust student as myself. I tell you honestly, sir, I have never once spoken to the lady but as a gentleman, a slight friend of her father, would.”
“My dear Murray, we have only known you a few weeks, but that has been long enough to make us esteem and trust—”
“Exactly; and it is preposterous.”
“That means, you could never care for the lady well enough to ask her to be your wife?”
“Never—certainly—never—impossible—that is—at least—no, no, no, quite impossible. I am a bookworm, a naturalist, and I shall never marry.”
“I am sorry,” said Mr Braine, thoughtfully, “for, to be frank, I rather thought there was a growing liking on your part for Amy.”
“A mistake, sir—a mistake, quite,” said Murray, warmly.
“And it would have been a happy circumstance for us now, at this rather troublesome time.”
“Eh? Troublesome? What do you mean? Is anything more the matter?”
“Yes,” said Mr Braine, with his brow full of lines. “I may be wrong—we may be wrong. We have dreaded something of the kind might happen, but years have gone on, and we have had no occasion to think anything serious till now.”
“You startle me. What do you mean?” said Murray, excitedly.
“Well, you see the rajah is a Mussulman.”
“Yes, of course. Allah, Mahomet, and so on.”
“He has several wives.”
“Yes, whom he keeps shut up like birds in a cage. Well, what of that?”
“Last night we were all very much disturbed. It was before you came in.”
“Ah! Yes, I noticed you were all very quiet. Why was it?”
“The rajah had sent Amy a present. It was a magnificent specimen of goldsmith’s work—a large bangle of great value.”
“Well?”
“Gentlemen, especially eastern gentlemen, do not send such presents as that to ladies without having some ulterior object in view.”
“What!” roared Murray, in so fierce a tone of voice that Hamet came running in.
“Master call?”
“No, no: go away. Nothing.—Here Braine, you horrify me. That old tyrant dare to—to think—to send her presents—to—oh, it is horrible. The old scoundrel! He to presume to—oh!”
“We may be mistaken. It may be only a compliment.”
“Nothing of the sort, sir. He meant an offer of marriage, which is sure to follow, and—oh, the insolent, tyrannical, old scoundrel!”
Mr Braine looked at Murray with a grave smile.
“This indignation’s all real?” he said.
“Real? I could go and horsewhip him.”
“Then you do care for Amy Barnes, in spite of your short acquaintance, Murray; and I tell you frankly I am very glad, for it may put a stop to a terrible complication, which might have risked all our lives.”
Murray’s face was scarlet, and he stood looking at his visitor without a word, for in his heart of hearts he owned that he was right, and that out there, in those wild jungles, he, Johnstone Murray, naturalist, who had never thought of such a thing before, had found his fate.
“Yes,” said Mr Braine again, thoughtfully, “a serious complication, which might have risked all our lives.”