THE POISONED ARROW
"And so," Peter Gross concluded, "I pledged my life that we'd put things
to rights in Bulungan."
Captain Carver did not answer. It was dim twilight of the evening
following the council meeting--they were met in Peter Gross's den, and
the captain had listened with an air of critical attention to the
nocturnal chirping of the crickets outside. Had it not been for
occasional curt, illuminative questions, Peter Gross might have thought
him asleep. He was a man of silences, this Captain Carver, a man after
Peter Gross's own heart.
"On the other hand they pledged that they would help me," Peter Gross
resumed. "There are to be no more raids, the head-hunters will be
delivered to justice, and there will be no more trading with the pirates
or payment of tribute to them. Man for man, chief for chief, they
pledged. I don't trust all of them. I know Wobanguli will violate his
oath, for he is a treacherous scoundrel, treacherous and cunning but
lacking in courage, or his nerve wouldn't have failed him yesterday. The
Datu of Bandar is a bad man. I hardly expected him to take the oath, and
it won't take much to persuade him to violate it. The Datu of Padang,
the old man who lost the forty buffaloes, is a venomous old rascal that
we'll have to watch. Lkath of the Sadong Dyaks left while we were
administering the oath; there is no blood of fealty on his forehead. But
I trust the hill Dyaks, they are with me. And we have Koyala."
Another silence fell between the resident and his lieutenant. It was
quite dark now and the ends of their cigars glowed ruddily. There was a
tap on the door and Paddy Rouse announced himself.
"Shall I get a light, sir?" he asked.
"I don't think it is necessary, Paddy," Peter Gross replied kindly. He
had conceived a great affection for the lad. He turned toward Carver.
"What do you think of the situation?" he asked pointedly.
Carver laid his cigar aside. It was not casually done, but with the
deliberateness of the man who feels he has an unpleasant duty before
him.
"I was trying to decide whether Koyala is an asset or a liability," he
replied.
Peter Gross, too, listened for a moment to the chirping of the crickets
before he answered.
"She saved my life," he said simply.
"She did," Captain Carver acknowledged. "I'm wondering why."
Peter Gross stared into the evening silence.
"I believe you misjudge her, captain," he remonstrated gently. "She
hasn't had much chance in life. She's had every reason for hating
us--all whites--but she has the welfare of her people at heart. She's a
patriot. It's the one passion of her life, the one outlet for her
starved and stunted affections. Her Dyak blood leads her to extremes.
We've got to curb her savage nature as far as we can, and if she does
break the bounds occasionally, overlook it. But I don't question her
absolute sincerity. That is why I trust her."
"If she were all Dyak I might think as you do," Captain Carver said
slowly. "But I never knew mixed blood to produce anything noble. It's
the mixture of bloods in her I'm afraid of. I've seen it in the
Philippines and among the Indians. It's never any good."
"There have been some notable half-breed patriots," Peter Gross remarked
with a half-smile that the darkness curtained.
"Dig into their lives and you'll find that what an infatuated people
dubbed patriotism was just damned meanness. Never a one of them, but was
after loot, not country."
"You have old Sachsen's prejudices," Peter Gross said. "Did I tell you
about the letter I got from him? I'll let you read it later, it's a
shame to spoil this evening. Sachsen warns me not to trust the girl,
says she's a fiend. He coupled her name with Ah Sing's." The vicious
snap of the resident's teeth was distinctly audible. God, how an old
man's tongue clacks to scandal. "I thought Sachsen was above it, but
'Rumor sits on the housetop,' as Virgil says...."
His voice trailed into silence and he stared across the fields toward
the jungle-crowned hills silhouetted against the brilliantly starlit
sky.
"Sachsen is too old a man to be caught napping," Carver observed.
"There probably is some sort of an understanding between Koyala and Ah
Sing," Peter Gross admitted seriously. "But it's nothing personal. She
thought he could help her free Bulungan. I think I've made her see the
better way--at least induced her to give us a chance to show what we can
do."
"You're sure it was Ah Sing's voice you heard?"
Peter Gross perceived from the sharp acerbity of the captain's tone, as
well as from the new direction he gave their conversation, Carver's lack
of sympathy with his views on Koyala's conduct. He sighed and replied
mildly:
"I am positive. There is no other bass in the world like his. Hoarse and
deep, a sea-lion growl. If I could have forced the bamboo aside sooner,
I might have seen him before he dodged out of the runway."
"If he's here we've got the whole damn' wasp's nest around our ears,"
Carver growled. "I wish we had the _Prins_ here."
"That would make things easier. But we can't tie her up in harbor, that
would give the pirates free play. She's our whole navy, with nearly
eight hundred miles of coastline to patrol."
"And we're here with twenty-five men," Carver said bitterly. "It would
be damned farcical if it wasn't so serious."
"We are not here to use a mailed fist," Peter Gross remonstrated mildly.
"I understand. All the same--" Carver stopped abruptly and stared into
the silence. Peter Gross made no comment. Their views were
irreconcilable, he saw. It was inevitable that Carver should undervalue
moral suasion; a military man, he recognized only the arbitrament of
brute force. The captain was speaking again.
"When do you begin the census?"
"Next Monday. I shall see Muller to-morrow. It will take at least two
months, possibly three; they're very easy-going here. I'd like to finish
it before harvest, so as to be able to check up the tax."
"You're going to trust it to Muller?"
The question implied doubt of his judgment. Peter Gross perceived Carver
was averse to letting either Muller or Van Slyck participate in the new
administration outside their regular duties.
"I think it is best," the resident replied quietly. "I don't want him
condemned on his past record, regardless of the evidence we may get
against him. He shall have his chance--if he proves disloyal he will
convict himself."
"How about Van Slyck?"
"He shall have his chance, too."
"You can't give the other man all the cards and win."
"We'll deal fairly. The odds aren't quite so big as you think--we'll
have Koyala and the hill Dyaks with us."
"H'mm. Jahi comes to-morrow afternoon, you say?"
"Yes. I shall appoint him Rajah over all the hill people."
Carver picked up his cigar and puffed in silence for several moments.
"If you could only trust the brutes," he exploded suddenly. "Damn it,
Mr. Gross, I wish I had your confidence, but I haven't. I can't help
remember some of the things that happened back in Luzon a few years
ago--and the Tagalogs aren't far distant relatives of these cusses.
'Civilize 'em with a Krag,' the infantry used to sing. It's damn' near
the truth."
"In the heart of every man there's something that responds to simple
justice and fair dealing--What's that?"
A soft thud on the wall behind them provoked the exclamation. Carver
sprang to his feet, tore the cigar from Peter Gross's mouth, and hurled
it at the fireplace with his own. Almost simultaneously he snapped the
heavy blinds together. The next moment a soft tap sounded on the
shutters.
Peter Gross lit a match and stepped to the wall. A tiny arrow, tipped
with a jade point, and tufted with feathers, quivered in the plaster.
Carver pulled it out and looked at the discolored point critically.
"Poisoned!" he exclaimed. He gave it to the resident, remarking
ironically:
"With the compliments of the Argus Pheasant, Mr. Gross."