Doctor Bolter felt as if the place was swimming round him, and the
fire-light seemed to dance as he heard these words. Then, as he
recovered himself somewhat, he gazed full in the Malay's eyes, to see
that the man was looking up at him in the calmest and most unruffled
way.
"Are you mad?" exclaimed the doctor.
"No," said the Malay. "I say what is right. Sultan Hamet joins with
Rajah Gantang to kill off all the English--the sultan here; the rajah
there, with his prahus."
"It is impossible!" cried the doctor. "You are deceiving me."
"No, no, I tell the truth," said the man; "but you shall not be hurt.
Let them kris me first. You shall live."
"Let us get back," cried the doctor, seizing his gun; and the tiger with
the beautiful skin, which he had meant to have for a specimen, was
forgotten.
"No, no," said the man, "you must stay in the jungle. The tigers are
better than Hamet."
"Can you walk?" said the doctor, quietly.
The man got up for answer.
"Can you find your way back?" said the doctor.
"Yes," said the other, with a scornful look. "I could find the way with
my eyes blinded."
"Then start at once. Here, take some more of this."
He gave the injured man another draught from his flask, for the poor
fellow seemed terribly faint.
The few drops of brandy gave him new life, and he displayed it by
throwing himself on his knees before Doctor Bolter, and clasping one of
his legs with his uninjured arm.
"Don't go back, master," he cried piteously. "You have been so good to
me that I could not bear to see you krissed. Stay away, and I will keep
you safely. My life is yours, for you saved it; and I am your slave."
"My good fellow," said the doctor, sadly, as he laid his hand upon the
Malay's shoulder, "you do not understand Englishmen."
"Yes, yes, I do," cried the Malay. "I like--I love Englishmen, I was
servant to the young chief Ali before the sultan had him krissed."
"Young Ali krissed?" cried the doctor.
"Yes, he was too much friends with the Englishmen, and made the sultan
jealous."
"And the wretch had that brave, noble young fellow killed?"
"Yes," said the Malay, sadly. "His father, the Tumongong, prayed upon
his knees that the brave boy's life might be spared, and offered to send
him out of the country. But the sultan laughed, and said that the young
chief would come back again with a swarm of English soldiers, and seize
the jewels, and put him to death, and make himself sultan. Then the
Tumongong swore an oath that Ali should never come back, and went down
on his face before Sultan Hamet; but the sultan drew his kris and
pricked him with it in the shoulder, and told him that he should die if
he named his son again."
"The villain! That brave, noble young fellow, too!" said the doctor,
excitedly.
"Yes; he was so brave and handsome," cried the Malay. "I loved him, but
I was obliged to hide it all, for if I had spoken one word they would
have krissed me, and thrown me into the river. So I had to be silent;
but when they wanted some one to go with you I offered, and they said
`Yes' because I could speak English, and the sultan gave me my orders."
"And what were they?" said the doctor, sharply.
"To wait till to-night, and then lead you out of the jungle if you did
not want to go, and stab you with my kris."
"And you did not do it?"
The Malay smiled, and drew his kris in its sheath from out of the folds
of his sarong, handing it to the doctor.
"I am not a murderer," he said.
"But suppose the sultan had asked you why you did not kill me," said the
doctor, "what then?"
"I should have told him a lie. He is a liar, and full of deceit. We do
not think it wrong to deal with such a man in the coins he gives. I
should have said you kept me back with your gun."
"Take your kris, my lad," said the doctor, quietly. "I trust you. Now
lead me back to the camp."
"No, no," cried the Malay. "I dare not. I cannot take you back to
death."
"I--must--go," said the doctor, sternly; and the Malay made a
deprecating gesture, indicative of his obedience.
"My people may have proved too strong for Sultan Hamet and his
treacherous gang."
"Yes--yes--they may," cried the Malay, eagerly.
"They may have given him such a lesson as he will never forget."
"I hope they will make him forget for ever," said the Malay in a sombre
tone. "He is not fit to live. My kris is thirsty to drink his blood."
"Forward, then!" cried the doctor, "and tell me when you feel sick.
Find water if you can, first thing. Does your wound pain you?"
"It feels as if the tiger kept biting me," was the reply; "but I do not
mind. Shall we go back?"
"Yes; and at once," cried the doctor, and, following his companion, they
rapidly retraced their steps through the dark jungle, the guide, as if
by instinct, making his way onward without a moment's hesitation,
seeming to take short cuts whenever the forest was sufficiently open to
let them pass.
As he stumbled on over the creeper-covered ground, the doctor had many a
narrow escape from falling, and he could not help envying the ease with
which his guide passed the various obstacles around them. The chief
thought that occupied the doctor's mind, though, was that which related
to the drugging of the party's food that evening.
The Malay had mentioned what drug was to be used, namely _toobah_, a
vegetable production--in fact the root of a plant which the doctor knew
that the Malays used to throw in the pools of the rivers and streams,
with the effect that the fish were helplessly intoxicated, and swam or
floated on the surface of the water. This plant he had several times
tried to obtain and examine, while he made experiments upon its power;
but so far he had been unsuccessful. Would it have the same effect upon
the human organisation that it had upon a fish? That was the question
he had to solve in his mind; but no matter how he turned the subject
over, he could extract not the smallest grain of comfort.
The only hope he could derive from his thoughts was that the English
discipline, with its regular setting of sentries and watchfulness, might
be sufficient to defeat the enemy's machinations, and a sufficiency of
the officers and men be unaffected by the poison to make a brave stand
until the rest had recovered.
That might happen; and slightly roused in spirit by this hope, he kept
steadily on. One thing was fixed in his own mind, and that was that it
was his duty to get back to his party, either to fight with them, to
help the wounded, or to share their fate.
"Not that I want to die," muttered the doctor. "There's that collection
of butterflies unpinned; no one but me could set up all those birds, or
understand the numbering; and then there's that boa-constrictor wants
dressing over; and worse than all, I've killed my first tiger, and have
not saved its skin."
"Humph!" he exclaimed directly after, "it seems as if I am to have a
hard job to save my own skin."
Just then the Malay reeled, and caught at a tree they were passing, when
the doctor had only just time to catch him and save him from a heavy
fall.
Laying his gun aside, he eased the poor fellow down upon the tangled
grass, trickling a few more drops from his flask between his lips, and
then giving the flask a bit of a shake to hear how much there was left.
"Better now," said the Malay, trying to rise. "The trees run round."
"Yes, of course they do to you," said the doctor. "Lie still for a
while, my good fellow. Is there any water near here?"
"Little way on," said the Malay, pointing. "Listen!"
The doctor bent his head, and plainly enough heard a low gurgling noise.
Following the direction in which the sound seemed to be, he came upon a
little stream, and filled, by holding on with one hand to a little palm,
and hanging down as low as he could, the tin canteen slung from his
shoulder. From this he drank first with avidity, then, refilling it, he
prepared to start back.
"And I always preach to the fellows about not drinking unfiltered
water," he muttered. "I wonder how many wild water beasts I've
swallowed down. Well, it can't be helped; and it was very refreshing.
Let me see! Bah! How can I when it's as dark as pitch! Which way did
I come?"
He stood thinking for a few moments, and then started off, cautiously
trying to retrace his steps; but before he had gone twenty yards he felt
sure that he was wrong, and turning back tried another way. Here again
at the end of a minute he felt that he was not going right, and with an
ejaculation of impatience, he made his way back to where the stream
rippled and gurgled along amidst the reeds, canes, and beneath the
overhanging branches.
It was not the spot where he had filled the canteen, but he knew that he
must be near it; and he started again, but only to have to get back once
more to the stream, where there was a rush, a scuffling noise and a loud
splashing, that made him start back with a shudder running up his spine,
for he knew by the sound that it must be a crocodile.
Worst of all he was unarmed, having left his gun beside the fainting
Malay.
All he could do was to back as quietly as he could into the jungle, with
canes and interlacing growths hindering him at every step; thorns tore
and clung to his clothes, and he felt that if any creature gave chase to
him it must overtake him directly. His only chance of safety then was
in inaction; and fretting with annoyance he crouched there, listening to
the shudder-engendering crawling noise made by evidently several
loathsome reptiles about the bank of the stream.
After a while this ceased, and he made another attempt to get back to
the Malay, going on and on through the darkness, and from time to time
shouting to him. He knew that he must be crossing and recrossing his
track, and blamed himself angrily for not being more careful. His
shouts produced no response, and the matches he lit failed to give him
the aid he had hoped; and at last, utterly exhausted, he sank down
amidst the dense undergrowth to wait for daylight, with the result that
nature would bear no more, and in spite of the help he knew his
companion needed, the danger of his companions, and the perils by which
he was surrounded from wild beasts, his head sank lower and lower upon
his breast, and he slept.
Not willingly, for he kept starting back into wakefulness, and walked to
and fro; but all in vain, sleep gradually mastered him; and he sank
lower and lower, falling into a deep slumber, and, as he afterwards
said, when talking about the adventure, "If I had been in front of a
cannon, and knew that it was to be fired, I could only have said--Just
wait till I am fast asleep, and then do what you please."
The sun was up when he started into full wakefulness, and his clothes
were drenched with dew.
"If I don't have a taste of jungle fever after this, it's strange to
me," he said, hastily swallowing a little white powder from a tiny
bottle. "A stitch in time saves nine, and blessed is the salt quinine."
"Humph! that's rhyme," he grunted. "Only to think that I should go to
sleep. Ahoy-oy!" he shouted.
There was no reply, and his heart smote him as he felt that he had
neglected the poor Malay. Then he felt that he was lost in the jungle;
but that did not trouble him much, for he was sure that if he followed
the little stream he should find that it entered a larger, and that the
larger would run into one larger still, probably into the Parang, whose
course he could follow down. But that would be only as a last resource.