A WOMAN'S HEART
Lying on the bamboo floor of the jungle hut which Muller had spoken of,
his hands and feet firmly bound, and a Dyak guard armed with spear and
kris at the door, Peter Gross thought over the events of his
administration as resident of Bulungan. His thoughts were not pleasant.
Shame filled his heart and reddened his brow as he thought of how
confidently he had assumed his mission, how firmly he had believed
himself to be the chosen instrument of destiny to restore order in the
distracted colony and punish those guilty of heinous crimes, and how
arrogantly he had rejected the sage advice of his elders.
He recollected old Sachsen's warning and his own impatient reply--the
event that he deemed so preposterous at that time and old Sachsen had
foreseen had actually come to pass. He had fallen victim to Koyala's
wiles. And she had betrayed him. Bitterly he cursed his stupid folly,
the folly that had led him to enter the jungle with her, the folly of
that mad moment when temptation had assailed him where man is weakest.
In his bitter self-excoriation he had no thought of condemnation for
her. The fault was his, he vehemently assured himself, lashing himself
with the scorpions of self-reproach. She was what nature and the sin of
her father had made her, a child of two alien, unincorporable races, a
daughter of the primitive, wild, untamed, uncontrolled, loving fiercely,
hating fiercely, capable of supremest sacrifice, capable, too, of the
most fiendish cruelty.
He had taken this creature and used her for his own ends, he had praised
her, petted her, treated her as an equal, companion, and helpmate. Then,
when that moment of madness was upon them both, he had suddenly wounded
her acutely sensitive, bitterly proud soul by drawing the bar sinister.
How she must have suffered! He winced at the thought of the pain he had
inflicted. She could not be blamed, no, the fault was his, he
acknowledged. He should have considered that he was dealing with a
creature of flesh and blood, a woman with youth, and beauty, and
passion. If he, who so fondly dreamed that his heart was marble, could
fall so quickly and so fatally, could he censure her?
Carver, too, had warned him. Not once, but many times, almost daily. He
had laughed at the warnings, later almost quarreled. What should he say
if he ever saw Carver again? He groaned.
There was a soft swish of skirts. Koyala stood before him. She gazed at
him coldly. There was neither hate nor love in her eyes, only
indifference. In her hand she held a dagger. Peter Gross returned her
gaze without flinching.
"You are my prisoner, _orang blanda_," she said. "Mine only. This hut
is mine. We are alone here, in the jungle, except for one of my people."
"You may do with me as you will, Koyala," Peter Gross replied weariedly.
Koyala started, and looked at him keenly.
"I have come to carry you away," she announced.
Peter Gross looked at her in silence.
"But first there are many things that we must talk about," she said.
Peter Gross rose to a sitting posture. "I am listening," he announced.
Koyala did not reply at once. She was gazing fixedly into his eyes,
those frank, gray eyes that had so often looked clearly and honestly
into hers as he enthusiastically spoke of their joint mission in
Bulungan. A half-sob broke in her throat, but she restrained it
fiercely.
"Do you remember, _mynheer_, when we first met?" she asked.
"It was at the mouth of the Abbas River, was it not? At Wolang's
village?"
"Why did you laugh at me then?" she exclaimed fiercely.
Peter Gross looked at her in astonishment. "I laughed at you?" he
exclaimed.
"Yes, on the beach. When I told you you must go. You laughed. Do not
deny it, you laughed!" The fierce intensity of her tone betrayed her
feeling.
Peter Gross shook his head while his gaze met hers frankly. "I do not
recollect," he said. "I surely did not laugh at you--I do not know what
it was--" A light broke upon him. "Ay, to be sure, I remember, now. It
was a Dyak boy with a mountain goat. He was drinking milk from the
teats. Don't you recall?"
"You are trying to deceive me," Koyala cried angrily. "You laughed
because--because--"
"As God lives, it is the truth!"
Koyala placed the point of her dagger over Peter Gross's heart.
"_Orang blanda_," she said, "I have sworn to kill you if you lie to me
in any single particular to-day. I did not see that whereof you speak.
There was no boy, no goat. Quick now, the truth, if you would save your
life."
Peter Gross met her glance fearlessly.
"I have told you why I laughed, Koyala," he replied. "I can tell you
nothing different."
The point of the dagger pricked the resident's skin.
"Then you would rather die?"
Peter Gross merely stared at her. Koyala drew a deep breath and drew
back the blade.
"First we shall talk of other things," she said.
At that moment the rattle of rifle-fire reached Peter Gross's ears.
"What is that?" he cried.
Koyala laughed, a low laugh of exultation. "That, _mynheer_, is the
children of Bulungan driving the white peccaries from Borneo."
"Ah Sing has attacked?" Peter Gross could not help, in his excitement,
letting a note of his dismay sound in his voice.
"Ah Sing and his pirates," Koyala cried triumphantly. "Wobanguli and the
warriors of Bulungan. Lkath and his Sadong Dyaks. The Malays from the
coast towns. All Bulungan except the hill people. They are all there, as
many as the sands of the seashore, and they have the _orang blanda_ from
Holland, and the Javanese, and the loud-voiced _orang blanda_ that you
brought with you, penned in Van Slyck's kampong. None will escape."
"Thank God Carver's in the fort," Peter Gross ejaculated.
"But they cannot escape," Koyala insisted fiercely.
"We shall see," Peter Gross replied. Great as were the odds, he felt
confident of Carver's ability to hold out a few days anyway. He had yet
to learn of the artillery Ah Sing commanded.
"Not one shall escape," Koyala reiterated, the tigerish light glowing in
her eyes. "Ah Sing has pledged it to me, Wobanguli has pledged it to me,
the last _orang blanda_ shall be driven from Bulungan." She clutched the
hilt of her dagger fiercely--.
Amazed at her vehemence, Peter Gross watched the shifting display of
emotion on her face.
"Koyala," he said, suddenly, "why do you hate us whites so?"
He shrank before the fierce glance she cast at him.
"Is there any need to ask?" she cried violently. "Did I not tell you the
first day we met, when I told you I asked no favors of you, and would
accept none? What have you and your race brought to my people and to me
but misery, and more misery? You came with fair promises, how have you
fulfilled them? In the _orang blanda_ way, falsehood upon falsehood,
taking all, giving none. Why don't I kill you now, when I have you in my
power, when I have only to drop my hand thus--" she flashed the dagger
at Peter Gross's breast--"and I will be revenged? Why? Because I was a
fool, white man, because I listened to your lies and believed when all
my days I have sworn I would not. So I have let you live, unless--" She
did not finish the thought, but stood in rigid attention, listening to
the increasing volume of rifle-fire.
"They are wiping it out in blood there," she said softly to herself,
"the wrongs of Bulungan, what my unhappy country has suffered from the
_orang blanda_."
Peter Gross's head was bowed humbly.
"I have wronged you," he said humbly. "But, before God, I did it in
ignorance. I thought you understood--I thought you worked with me for
Bulungan and Bulungan only, with no thought of self. So I worked. Yet
somehow, my plans went wrong. The people did not trust me. I tried to
relieve them of unjust taxes. They would not let me take the census. I
tried to end raiding. There were always disorders and I could not find
the guilty. I found a murderer for Lkath, among his own people, yet he
drove me away. I cannot understand it."
"Do you know why?" Koyala exclaimed exultingly. "Do you know why you
failed? It was I--I--I, who worked against you. The _orang kayas_ sent
their runners to me and said: 'Shall we give the _controlleur_ the count
of our people?' and I said: 'No, Djath forbids.' To the Rajahs and
Gustis I said: 'Let there be wars, we must keep the ancient valor of our
people lest they become like the Javanese, a nation of slaves.' You
almost tricked Lkath into taking the oath. But in the night I went to
him and said: 'Shall the vulture rest in the eagle's nest?' and he drove
you away."
Peter Gross stared at her with eyes that saw not. The house of his faith
was crumbling into ruins, yet he scarcely realized it himself, the
revelation of her perfidy had come so suddenly. He groped blindly for
salvage from the wreck, crying:
"But you saved my life--three times!"
She saw his suffering and smiled. So she had been made to suffer, not
once, but a thousand times.
"That was because I had sworn the revenge should be mine, not Ah Sing's
or any one else's, _orang blanda_."
Peter Gross lowered his face in the shadow. He did not care to have her
see how great had been his disillusionment, how deep was his pain.
"You may do with me as you will, _juffrouw_," he said.
Koyala looked at him strangely a moment, then rose silently and left the
hut. Peter Gross never knew the reason. It was because at that moment,
when she revealed her Dyak treachery and uprooted his faith, he spoke to
her as he would to a white woman--"_juffrouw_."
"They are holding out yet," Peter Gross said to himself cheerfully some
time later as the sound of scattered volleys was wafted over the hills.
Presently he heard the dull boom of the first shell. His face paled.
"That is artillery!" he exclaimed. "Can it be--?" He remembered the
heavy guns on the proas and his face became whiter still. He began
tugging at his bonds, but they were too firmly bound. His Dyak guard
looked in and grinned, and he desisted. As time passed and the
explosions continued uninterruptedly, his face became haggard and more
haggard. It was because of his folly, he told himself, that men were
dying there--brave Carver, so much abler and more foresighted than he,
the ever-cheerful Paddy, all those he had brought with him, good men and
true. He choked.
Presently the shell-fire ceased. Peter Gross knew what it meant, in
imagination he saw the columns of natives forming, column upon column,
all that vast horde of savages and worse than savages let loose on a
tiny square of whites.
A figure stood in the doorway. It was Koyala. Cho Seng stood beside her.
"The walls are down," she cried triumphantly. "There is only a handful
of them left. The people of Bulungan are now forming for the charge. In
a few minutes you will be the only white man left in Bulungan."
"I and Captain Van Slyck," Peter Gross said scornfully.
"He is dead," Koyala replied. "Ah Sing killed him. He was of no further
use to us, why should he live?"
Peter Gross's lips tightened grimly. The traitor, at least, had met the
death he merited.
Cho Seng edged nearer. Peter Gross noticed the dagger hilt protruding
from his blouse.
"Has my time come, too?" he asked calmly.
The Chinaman leaped on him. "Ah Sing sends you this," he cried
hoarsely--the dagger flashed.
Quick as he was, quick as a tiger striking its prey, the Argus Pheasant
was quicker. As the dagger descended, Koyala caught him by the wrist. He
struck her with his free hand and tried to tear the blade away. Then his
legs doubled under him, for Peter Gross, although his wrists were bound,
could use his arms. Cho Seng fell on the point of the dagger, that
buried itself to the hilt in the fleshy part of his breast. With a low
groan he rolled over. His eyeballs rolled glassily upward, thick, choked
sounds came from his throat--
"Ah Sing--comeee--for Koyala--plenty quick--" With a sigh, he died.
Peter Gross looked at the Argus Pheasant. She was gazing dully at a tiny
scratch on her forearm, a scratch made by Cho Seng's dagger. The edges
were purplish.
"The dagger was poisoned," she murmured dully. Her glance met her
prisoner's and she smiled wanly.
"I go to _Sangjang_ with you, _mynheer_," she said.
Peter Gross staggered to his knees and caught her arm. Before she
comprehended what he intended to do he had his lips upon the cut and was
sucking the blood. A scarlet tide flooded her face, then fled, leaving
her cheeks with the pallor of death.
"No, no," she cried, choking, and tried to tear her arm away. But in
Peter Gross's firm grasp she was like a child. After a frantic, futile
struggle she yielded. Her face was bloodless as a corpse and she stared
glassily at the wall.
Presently Peter Gross released her.
"It was only a scratch," he said gently. "I think we have gotten rid of
the poison."
The sound of broken sobbing was his only answer.
"Koyala," he exclaimed.
With a low moan she ran out of the hut, leaving him alone with the dead
body of the Chinaman, already bloated purple.
Peter Gross listened again. Only the ominous silence from the hills, the
silence that foretold the storm. He wondered where Koyala was and his
heart became hot as he recollected Cho Seng's farewell message that Ah
Sing was coming. Well, Ah Sing would find him, find him bound and
helpless. The pirate chief would at last have his long-sought revenge.
For some inexplicable reason he felt glad that Koyala was not near. The
jungle was her best protection, he knew.
A heavy explosion cut short his reveries. "They are cannonading again,"
he exclaimed in surprise, but as another terrific crash sounded a moment
later, his face became glorified. Wild cries of terror sounded over the
hills, Dyak cries, mingled with the shrieking of shrapnel--
"It's the _Prins_," Peter Gross exclaimed jubilantly. "Thank God,
Captain Enckel came on time."
He tugged at his own bonds in a frenzy of hope, exerting all his great
strength to strain them sufficiently to permit him to slip one hand
free. But they were too tightly bound. Presently a shadow fell over him.
He looked up with a start, expecting to see the face of the Chinese
arch-murderer, Ah Sing. Instead it was Koyala.
"Let me help you," she said huskily. With a stroke of her dagger she cut
the cord. Another stroke cut the bonds that tied his feet. He sprang up,
a free man.
"Hurry, Koyala," he cried, catching her by the arm. "Ah Sing may be here
any minute."
Koyala gently disengaged herself.
"Ah Sing is in the jungle, far from here," she said.
A silence fell upon them both. Her eyes, averted from his, sought the
ground. He stood by, struggling for adequate expression.
"Where are you going, Koyala?" he finally asked. She had made no
movement to go.
"Wherever you will, _mynheer_," she replied quietly. "I am now your
prisoner."
Peter Gross stared a moment in astonishment. "My prisoner?" he repeated.
"Nonsense."
"Your people have conquered, _mynheer_," she said. "Mine are in flight.
Therefore I have come to surrender myself--to you."
"I do not ask your surrender," Peter Gross, replied gravely, beginning
to understand.
"You do not ask it, _mynheer_, but some one must suffer for what has
happened. Some one must pay the victor's price. I am responsible, I
incited my people. So I offer myself--they are innocent and should not
be made to suffer."
"Ah Sing is responsible," Peter Gross said firmly. "And I."
"You, _mynheer_?" The question came from Koyala's unwilling lips before
she realized it.
"Yes, I, _juffrouw_. It is best that we forget what has happened--I must
begin my work over again." He closed his lips firmly, there were lines
of pain in his face. "That is," he added heavily, "if his excellency
will permit me to remain here after this fiasco."
"You will stay here?" Koyala asked incredulously.
"Yes. And you, _juffrouw_?"
A moment's silence. "My place is with my people--if you do not want me
as hostage, _mynheer_?"
Peter Gross took a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. She
trembled violently.
"I have a better work for you, _juffrouw_," he said.
Her eyes lifted slowly to meet his. There was mute interrogation in the
glance.
"To help me make Bulungan peaceful and prosperous," he said.
Koyala shook herself free and walked toward the door. Peter Gross did
not molest her. She stood on the threshold, one hesitating foot on the
jungle path that led to the grove of big banyans. For some minutes she
remained there. Then she slowly turned and reentered the hut.
"Mynheer Gross," she said, in a choking voice, "before I met you I
believed that all the _orang blanda_ were vile. I hated the white blood
that was in me, many times I yearned to take it from me, drop by drop,
many times I stood on the edge of precipices undecided whether to let it
nourish my body longer or no. Only one thing kept me from death, the
thought that I might avenge the wrongs of my unhappy country and my
unhappy mother."
A stifled sob shook her. After a moment or two she resumed:
"Then you came. I prayed the Hanu Token to send a young man, a young man
who would desire me, after the manner of white men. When I saw you I
knew you as the man of the Abbas, the man who had laughed, and I thought
the Hanu Token had answered my prayer. I saved you from Wobanguli, I
saved you from Ah Sing, that you might be mine, mine only to torture."
Her voice broke again.
"But you disappointed me. You were just, you were kind, righteous in
all your dealings, considerate of me. You did not seek to take me in
your arms, even when I came to you in your own dwelling. You did not
taunt me with my mother like that pig, Van Slyck--"
"He is dead," Peter Gross interrupted gently.
"I have no sorrow for him. _Sangjang_ has waited over-long for him. Now
you come to me, after all that has happened, and say: 'Koyala, will you
forget and help me make Bulungan happy?' What shall I answer,
_mynheer_?"
She looked at him humbly, entreatingly. Peter Gross smiled, his
familiar, confident, warming smile.
"What your conscience dictates, Koyala."
She breathed rapidly. At last came her answer, a low whisper. "If you
wish it, I will help you, _mynheer_."
Peter Gross reached out his hand and caught hers. "Then we're pards
again," he cried.