A RESCUE
Released from his bonds, for the jailer had not replaced these, Peter
Gross spent the hours in comparative comfort. He amused himself in
examining every inch of the cell in the faint hope that he might find a
weak spot, and in meditating other plans of escape. Although missing
Paddy's ready smile and readier chaff greatly, he did not worry about
the lad, for since he was safe himself he reasoned that his subordinate
must be.
Late in the afternoon, while he was pacing his cell, the sharp crack of
a rifle suddenly broke the forest stillness. Holding himself tense and
rigid with every fiber thrilling at the thought of rescue, he listened
for the repetition of the shot. It came quickly, mingled with a
blood-curdling yell from a hundred or more savage throats. There were
other scattered shots.
His finger-nails bit into his palms, and his heart seemed to stand
still. Had Carver found him? Were these Dyaks friends or enemies? The
next few moments seemed that many eternities; then he heard a ringing
American shout:
"We've got 'em all, boys; come on!"
Peter Gross leaped to the grating. "Here, Carver, here!" he shouted at
the top of his voice.
"Coming!" twenty or more voices shouted in a scattered chorus. There was
a rush of feet, leather-shod feet, across the fore-court pavement. The
heavy bar was lifted. Striving to remain calm, although his heart beat
tumultuously, Peter Gross waited in the center of the chamber until the
door opened and Carver sprang within.
The captain blinked to accustom himself to the light. Peter Gross
stepped forward and their hands clasped.
"In time, Mr. Gross, thank God!" Carver exclaimed. "Where's Paddy?"
"In the other chamber; I'll show you," Peter Gross answered. He sprang
out of his cell like a colt from the barrier and led the way on the
double-quick to the cell that had housed him and Paddy for two days.
Carver and he lifted the bar together and forced the door. The cell was
empty.
It took a full minute for the resident to comprehend this fact. He
stared dazedly at every inch of the floor and wall, exploring bare
corners with an eager eye, as though Paddy might be hiding in some nook
or cranny. But the tenantless condition of the chamber was indisputable.
A half-sob broke in Peter Gross's throat. It was the first emotion he
had given way to.
"They've taken him away," he said in a low, strained voice.
"Search the temple!" Carver shouted in a stentorian voice to several of
his command. "Get Jahi to help; he probably knows this place."
"Jahi's here?" Peter Gross exclaimed incredulously.
"He and a hundred hillmen," Carver replied crisply. "Now to comb this
pile."
The tribesmen scattered to search the ruin. It was not extensive. In the
meantime Peter Gross briefly sketched the happenings of the past few
days to Carver. At the mention of Van Slyck the captain's face became
livid.
"The damn' skunk said he was going to Padang," he exclaimed. "He left
Banning in charge. I hope to God he stays away."
One of Jahi's hillmen reported that no trace of Rouse could be found.
"Him no here; him in bush," he said.
"The Chinks have gone back to their proas; the trail heads that way,"
Carver said. "Some of Jahi's boys picked it up before we found you. But
what the deuce do they want with Rouse, if they haven't killed him?"
"He's alive," Peter Gross declared confidently, although his own heart
was heavy with misgiving. "We've got to rescue him."
"They've got at least five hours the start of us," Carver remarked. "How
far are we from the seacoast?"
Peter Gross's reply was as militarily curt as the captain's question.
"About two hours' march."
"They're probably at sea. We'll take a chance, though." He glanced
upward at the sound of a footfall. "Ah, here's Jahi."
Peter Gross turned to the chieftain who had so promptly lived up to his
oath of brotherhood. Warm with gratitude, he longed to crush the Dyak's
hand within his own, but restrained himself, knowing how the Borneans
despised display of emotion. Instead he greeted the chief formally,
rubbing noses according to the custom of the country.
No word of thanks crossed his lips, for he realized that Jahi would be
offended if he spoke. Such a service was due from brother to brother,
according to the Dyak code.
"Rajah, can we catch those China boys before they reach their proas?"
Carver asked.
"No can catch," Jahi replied.
"Can we catch them before they sail?"
"No can say."
"How far is it?"
They were standing near a lone column of stone that threw a short shadow
toward them. Jahi touched the pavement with his spear at a point about
six inches beyond the end of the shadow.
"When there shall have reached by so far the finger of the sun," he
declared.
Both Carver and Peter Gross understood that he was designating how much
longer the shadow must grow.
"About two hours, as you said," Carver remarked to his chief. "We'd
better start at once."
Jahi bowed to indicate that he had understood. He took some soiled
sheets of China rice paper from his chawat.
"Here are skins that talk, _mynheer kapitein_," he said respectfully.
"Dyak boy find him in China boy kampong."
Carver thrust them into his pocket without looking at them and blew his
whistle. A few minutes later they began the march to the sea.
While they were speeding through a leafy tunnel with Jahi's Dyaks
covering the front and rear to guard against surprise, Carver found
opportunity to explain to Peter Gross how he had been able to make the
rescue. Koyala had learned Ah Sing's plans from a native source and had
hastened to Jahi, who was watching the borders of his range to guard
against a surprise attack by Lkath. Jahi, on Koyala's advice, had made a
forced march to within ten miles of Bulungan, where Carver, summoned by
Koyala, had joined him. Starting at midnight, they had made an
eight-hour march to the temple.
"Koyala again," Peter Gross remarked. "She has been our good angel all
the way."
Carver was silent. The resident looked at him curiously.
"I am surprised that you believed her so readily," he said. They jogged
along some distance before the captain replied.
"I believed her. But I don't believe in her," he said.
"Something's happened since to cause you to lose confidence in her?"
Peter Gross asked quickly.
"No, nothing specific. Only Muller and his _controlleurs_ are having the
devil's own time getting the census. Many of the chiefs won't even let
them enter their villages. Somebody has been stirring them up. And there
have been raids--"
"So you assume it's Koyala?" Peter Gross demanded harshly.
Carver evaded a reply. "I got a report that the priests are preaching a
holy war among the Malay and Dyak Mohammedans."
"That is bad, bad," Peter Gross observed, frowning thoughtfully. "We
must find out who is at the bottom of this."
"The Argus Pheasant isn't flying around the country for nothing," Carver
suggested, but stopped abruptly as he saw the flash of anger that
crossed his superior's face.
"Every success we have had is due to her," Peter Gross asserted sharply.
"She saved my life three times."
Carver hazarded one more effort.
"Granted. For some reason we don't know she thinks it's to her interest
to keep you alive--for the present. But she has an object. I can't make
it out yet, but I'm going to--" The captain's lips closed resolutely.
"You condemned her before you saw her because she has Dyak blood," Peter
Gross accused. "It isn't fair."
"I'd like her a lot more if she wasn't so confounded friendly," Carver
replied dryly.
Peter Gross did not answer, and by tacit consent the subject was
dropped.
Captain Carver was looking at his watch--the two hours were more than
up--when Jahi, who had been in the van, stole back and lifted his hand
in signal for silence.
"_Orang blanda_ here stay, Dyak boy smell kampong," he said.