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[Illustration: Cover]
THE ARGUS PHEASANT
[Illustration: The Chinaman's laborious progress through the cane had
amused her. She knew why he stepped so carefully]
THE
ARGUS PHEASANT
BY
JOHN CHARLES BEECHAM
Frontispiece by
GEORGE W. GAGE
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Omniscient Sachsen 1
II. Ah Sing Counts His Nails 10
III. Peter Gross is Named Resident 25
IV. Koyola's Prayer 35
V. Sachsen's Warning 54
VI. The Pirate League 73
VII. Mynheer Muller Worries 82
VIII. Koyala's Warning 97
IX. The Long Arm of Ah Sing 107
X. Captain Carver Signs 119
XI. Mynheer Muller's Dream 125
XII. Peter Gross's Reception 134
XIII. A Fever Antidote 144
XIV. Koyala's Defiance 154
XV. The Council 165
XVI. Peter Gross's Pledge 173
XVII. The Poisoned Arrow 192
XVIII. A Summons to Sadong 198
XIX. Koyala's Ultimatum 207
XX. Lkath's Conversion 216
XXI. Captured by Pirates 226
XXII. In the Temple 238
XXIII. Ah Sing's Vengeance 245
XXIV. A Rescue 252
XXV. The Fight on the Beach 259
XXVI. "To Half of My Kingdom-" 268
XXVII. A Woman Scorned 274
XXVIII. The Attack on the Fort 285
XXIX. A Woman's Heart 296
XXX. The Governor's Promise 310
THE ARGUS PHEASANT
Ah, God, for a man with a heart, head, hand,
Like some of the simple great ones gone
Forever and ever by;
One still, strong man in a blatant land,
Whatever they call him--what care I?--
Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat--one
Who can rule and dare not lie! _Tennyson._
CHAPTER I
THE OMNISCIENT SACHSEN
It was very apparent that his Excellency Jonkheer Adriaan Adriaanszoon
Van Schouten, governor-general of the Netherlands East Indies, was in a
temper. His eyes sparked like an emery-wheel biting cold steel. His
thin, sharp-ridged nose rose high and the nostrils quivered. His pale,
almost bloodless lips were set in rigid lines over his finely chiseled,
birdlike beak with its aggressive Vandyke beard. His hair bristled
straight and stiff, like the neck-feathers of a ruffled cock, over the
edge of his linen collar. It was this latter evidence of the governor's
unpleasant humor that his military associate, General Gysbert Karel
Vanden Bosch, observed with growing anxiety.
The governor took a pinch of snuff with great deliberation and glared
across the big table of his cabinet-room at the general. Vanden Bosch
shrank visibly.
"Then, my dear _generaal_," he demanded, "you say we must let these sons
of Jazebel burn down my residences, behead my residents, and feed my
_controlleurs_ to the crocodiles without interference from the
military?"
"_Ach_, no, your excellency!" General Vanden Bosch expostulated hastily.
"Not that!"
"I fear I have not understood you, my dear general. What do you advise?"
The icy sweetness of the choleric Van Schouten sent a cold shiver along
the commander's spine. He wriggled nervously in the capacious armchair
that he filled so snugly. Quite unconsciously he mumbled to himself the
clause which the pious Javanese had added to their prayers since Van
Schouten's coming to Batavia: "And from the madness of the _orang
blanda_ devil at the _paleis_, Allah deliver us."
"Ha! _generaal_, what do you say?" the governor exclaimed.
Vanden Bosch coughed noisily and rallied his wits.
"Ahem, your excellency; ah-hum! It is a problem, as your excellency
knows. I could send Colonel Heyns and his regiment to Bulungan, if your
excellency so desires. But--ahem--as your excellency knows, all he will
find is empty huts. Not a proa on the sea; not a Dyak in his field."
"You might as well send that many wooden men!" Van Schouten snapped.
The general winced. His portentously solemn features that for forty
years had impressed the authorities at The Hague with his sagacity in
military affairs became severely grave. Oracularly he suggested:
"Would it not be wise, your excellency, to give Mynheer Muller, the
_controlleur_, more time? His last report was very satisfactory. Very
satisfactory, indeed!" He smacked his lips at the satisfactoriness
thereof.
"_Donder en bliksem!_" the governor swore, crashing his lean fist on the
table. "More time for what? The taxes have not been paid for two years.
Not a kilo of rice has been grown on our plantations. Not a liter of
dammargum has been shipped here. The cane is left to rot uncut. Fire has
ravaged the cinchona-groves my predecessors set with such care. Every
ship brings fresh reports of piracies, of tribal wars, and head-hunting.
How much longer must we possess our souls in patience while these things
go on?"
The general shook his head with a brave show of regret.
"_Ach!_ your excellency," he replied sadly; "he promised so well."
"Promises," the governor retorted, "do not pay taxes."
Vanden Bosch rubbed his purple nose in perplexity.
"I suppose it is the witch-woman again," he remarked, discouragedly.
"Who else?" Van Schouten growled. "Always the witch-woman. That spawn of
Satan, Koyala, is at the bottom of every uprising we have in Borneo."
"That is what we get for letting half-breeds mingle with whites in our
mission schools," Vanden Bosch observed bitterly.
The governor scowled. "That folly will cost the state five hundred
_gulden_," he remarked. "That is the price I have put on her head."
The general pricked up his ears. "H-m, that should interest Mynheer
Muller," he remarked. "There is nothing he likes so well as the feel of
a guilder between his fingers."
The governor snorted. "_Neen, generaal_," he negatived. "For once he has
found a sweeter love than silver. The fool fairly grovels at Koyala's
feet, Sachsen tells me."
"So?" Vanden Bosch exclaimed with quickened interest. "They say she is
very fair."
"If I could get my hands on her once, the Argus Pheasant's pretty
feathers would molt quickly," Van Schouten snarled. His fingers closed
like an eagle's talons.
"Argus Pheasant, Bintang Burung, the Star Bird--'tis a sweet-sounding
name the Malays have for her," the general remarked musingly. There was
a sparkle in his eye--the old warrior had not lost his fondness for a
pretty face. "If I was younger," he sighed, "I might go to Bulungan
myself."
The governor grunted.
"You are an old cock that has lost his tail-feathers, _generaal_," he
growled. "This is a task for a young man."
The general's chest swelled and his chin perked up jauntily.
"I am not so old as you think, your excellency," he retorted with a
trace of asperity.
"_Neen, neen, generaal_," the governor negatived, "I cannot let you
go--not for your own good name's sake. The gossips of Amsterdam and The
Hague would have a rare scandal to prate about if it became whispered
around that Gysbert Vanden Bosch was scouring the jungles of Bulungan
for a witch-woman with a face and form like Helen of Troy's."
The general flushed. His peccadillos had followed him to Java, and he
did not like to be reminded of them.
"The argus pheasant is too shy a bird to come within gunshot, your
excellency," he replied somberly. "It must be trapped."
"Ay, and so must she," the governor assented. "That is how she got her
name. But you are too seasoned for bait, my dear _generaal_." He
chuckled.
Vanden Bosch was too much impressed with his own importance to enjoy
being chaffed. Ignoring the thrust, he observed dryly:
"Your excellency might try King Saul's plan."
"Ha!" the governor exclaimed with interest. "What is that?"
Van Schouten prided himself on his knowledge of the Scriptures, and the
general could not repress a little smirk of triumph at catching him
napping.
"King Saul tied David's hands by giving him his daughter to wife," he
explained. "In the same way, your excellency might clip the Argus
Pheasant's wings by marrying her to one of our loyal servants. It might
be managed most satisfactorily. A proper marriage would cause her to
forget the brown blood that she hates so bitterly."
"It is not her brown blood that she hates, it is her white blood," Van
Schouten contradicted. "But who would be the man?"
"Why not Mynheer Muller, the _controlleur_!" Vanden Bosch asked. "From
what your excellency says, he would not be unwilling. Then our troubles
in Bulungan would be over."
Van Schouten scowled thoughtfully.
"It would be a good match," the general urged. "He is only common
blood--a Marken herring-fisher's son by a Celebes woman. And she"--he
shrugged his shoulders--"for all her pretty face and plump body she is
Leveque, the French trader's daughter, by a Dyak woman."
He licked his lips in relish of the plan.
Van Schouten shook his head.
"No, I cannot do it," he said. "I could send her to the
coffee-plantations--that would be just punishment for her
transgressions. But God keep me from sentencing any woman to marry."
"But, your excellency," Vanden Bosch entreated.
"It is ridiculous, _generaal_," the governor cut in autocratically. "The
argus pheasant does not mate with the vulture."
Vanden Bosch's face fell. "Then your excellency must appoint another
resident," he said, in evident disappointment. "It will take a strong
man to bring those Dyaks to time."
Van Schouten looked at him fixedly for several moments. A miserable
sensation of having said too much crept over the general.
"Ha!" Van Schouten exclaimed. "You say we must have a new resident. That
has been my idea, too. What bush-fighter have you that can lead two
hundred cut-throats like himself and harry these tigers out of their
lairs till they crawl on their bellies to beg for peace?"
Inwardly cursing himself for his folly in ceasing to advocate Muller,
the general twiddled his thumbs and said nothing.
"Well, _generaal_?" Van Schouten rasped irascibly.
"Ahem--you know what troops I have, your excellency. Mostly raw
recruits, here scarce three months. There is not a man among them I
would trust alone in the bush. After all, it might be wisest to give
Mynheer Muller another chance." His cheeks puffed till they were purple.
Van Schouten's face flamed.
"Enough! Enough!" he roared. "If the military cannot keep our house in
order, Sachsen and I will find a man. That is all, _generaal_.
_Goedendag!_"
Vanden Bosch made a hasty and none too dignified exit, damning under his
breath the administration that had transferred him from a highly
ornamental post in Amsterdam to live with this pepper-pot. He was hardly
out of the door before the governor shouted:
"Sachsen! _Hola_, Sachsen!"
The sound of the governor's voice had scarcely died in the marbled
corridors when Sachsen, the omniscient, the indispensable secretary,
bustled into the sanctum. His stooped shoulders were crooked in a
perpetual obeisance, and his damp, gray hair was plastered thinly over
his ruddy scalp; but the shrewd twinkle in his eyes and the hawklike
cast of his nose and chin belied the air of humility he affected.
"Sachsen," the governor demanded, the eagle gleaming in his lean,
Caesarian face, "where can I find a man that will bring peace to
Bulungan?"
The wrinkled features of the all-knowing Sachsen crinkled with a smile
of inspiration.
"Your excellency," he murmured, bowing low, "there is Peter Gross,
freeholder of Batavia."
"Peter Gross, _Pieter_ Gross," Van Schouten mused, his brow puckered
with a thoughtful frown. "The name seems to have slipped my memory. What
has Peter Gross, freeholder of Batavia, done to merit such an
appointment at our hands, Sachsen?"
The secretary bowed again, punctiliously.
"Your excellency perhaps remembers," he reminded, "that it was Peter
Gross who rescued Lieutenant Hendrik de Koren and twelve men from the
pirates of Lombock."
"Ha!" the governor exclaimed, his stern features relaxing a trifle.
"Now, Sachsen, answer me truthfully, has this Peter Gross an eye for
women?"
The secretary bent low.
"Your excellency, the fairest flowers of Batavia are his to pick and
choose. The good God has given him a brave heart, a comely face, and
plenty of flesh to cover his bones. But his only mistress is the sea."
"If I should send him to Bulungan, would that she-devil, Koyala, make
the same fool of him that she has of Muller?" the governor demanded
sharply.
"Your excellency, the angels above would fail sooner than he."
The governor's fist crashed on the table with a resounding thwack.
"Then he is the man we need!" he exclaimed. "Where shall I find this
Peter Gross, Sachsen?"
"Your excellency, he is now serving as first mate of the Yankee
barkentine, _Coryander_, anchored in this port. He was here at the
_paleis_ only a moment ago, inquiring for news of three of his crew who
had exceeded their shore leave. I think he has gone to Ah Sing's _rumah
makan_, in the Chinese campong."
Van Schouten sprang from his great chair of state like a cockerel
fluttering from a roost. He licked his thin lips and curved them into a
smile.
"Sachsen," he said, "except myself, you are the only man in Java that
knows anything. My hat and coat, Sachsen, and my cane!"