"Are you awake, sahibs?" questioned Hassan, our guide, as he eagerly
roused us from sleep one night. "The Hunted Tribe of Three Hundred Peaks
is about its deadly work: Listen!"
[Illustration: "LISTEN!"]
We sat up and leant forward as he spoke, straining our ears to catch the
slightest sound. Across the plain which stretched before us came at
intervals a faint cry, which sounded like the hoot of a night bird.
"That is their strange signal," continued the Arab.
We rose, and, going to the door of the tent, scanned the wide plain, but
could see no human being crossing it.
"You are mistaken this time, Hassan," said Denviers. "What you heard was
an owl hooting."
"The sahib it is who misjudges," answered the Arab, calmly. "I have
heard the warning note of the tribe before."
"It seems to come from the direction of Ayuthia," I interposed, pointing
to where the faint outlines of the spires of its pagodas rose like
shadows under the starlit sky.
"It comes from beyond Ayuthia," responded Hassan, whose keen sense of
hearing was so remarkable; "and is as far away as the strange city built
on the banks round a sunken ship, which we saw as we floated down the
Meinam. Hist! I hear the signal again!"
Once more we listened, but that time the cry came to us from a different
direction.
"It is only an owl hooting," repeated Denviers, "which has now flown to
some other part of the plain and is hidden from us by one of the ruined
palaces, which seem to rise up like ghosts in the moonlight. If Hassan
means to wake us up every time he hears a bird screech we shall get
little enough rest. I'm going to lie down again." He entered the tent,
followed by us, and stretching himself wearily was asleep a few minutes
after this, while Hassan and I sat conversing together, for the strange,
bird-like cry prevented me from following Denviers' example.
"_Coot! Coot!_" came the signal again, and in spite of my companion's
opinion I felt forced to agree with the Arab that there was something
more than a bird hooting, for at times I plainly heard an answering cry.
After our adventure in the northern part of Burmah we had travelled
south into the heart of Siam, where we parted with our elephant, and
passed down the Meinam in one of the barges scooped out of a tree trunk,
such as are commonly used to navigate this river. Disembarking at
Ayuthia we had visited the ruins of the ancient city, and afterwards
continued on our way towards the mouth of the river. While examining the
colossal images which lie amid the other relics of the city's past
greatness, Hassan had told us a weird story, to which, however, at that
time we paid but scant attention.
On the night when our Arab guide had roused us so suddenly, our tent was
pitched at some distance from the bank of the river, where a fantastic
natural bridge of jagged white limestone spanned the seething waters of
the tumbling rapids below, and united the two parts of the great plain.
Sitting close to the entrance of the tent with Hassan, I could see far
away to the west the tops of the great range of the Three Hundred Peaks
beyond the plain. Recollecting that Hassan had mentioned them in his
story, I was just on the point of asking him to repeat it when I heard
the strange cry once more. A moment after the Arab seized me by the arm
and pointed towards the plain before us.
I looked in the direction which Hassan indicated, and my eyes rested on
the dismantled wall of a ruined palace. I observed nothing further for a
few minutes, then a dusky form seemed to be hiding in the shadow of the
wall. "_Coot!_" came the signal again, striking upon the air softly as
if the one who uttered it feared to be discovered. The cry had
apparently been uttered by someone beyond the river bank, for the man
lurking in the shadow of the ruin stepped boldly out from it into the
moonlit plain. He stood there silent for a moment, then dropped into the
high grass, above which we saw him raise his head and cautiously return
the signal.
"What do you think he is doing there, Hassan? " I asked the Arab, in a
whisper, as I saw his hand wander to the hilt of his sword.
"The hill-men have seen our tent while out on one of their expeditions,"
he responded, softly. "I think they are going to attempt to take us by
surprise, but by the aid of the Prophet we will outwit them."
I felt no particular inclination to place much trust in Mahomet's help,
as the danger which confronted us dawned fully upon my mind, so instead
I moved quickly over to Denviers, and awoke him.
[Illustration: "THE SWARTHY FACE OF A TURBANED HILL-MAN."]
"Is it the owl again?" he asked, as I motioned to him to look through
the opening of the tent. Immediately he did so, and saw the swarthy face
of a turbaned hill-man raised above the rank grass, as its owner made
slowly but steadily towards our tent, worming along like a snake, and
leaving a thin line of beaten-down herbage to show where his body had
passed. Denviers drew from his belt one of the pistols thrust there, for
we had taken the precaution at Rangoon to get a couple each, since our
own were lost in our adventure off Ceylon. I quietly imitated his
example, and, drawing well away from the entrance of the tent, so that
our watchfulness might not be observed, we waited for the hill-man to
approach. Half-way between the ruined palace wall and our tent he
stopped, and then I felt Hassan's hand upon my arm again as, with the
other, he pointed towards the river bank.
We saw the grass moving there, and through it came a second hill-man,
who gradually drew near to the first. On reaching him the second comer
also became motionless, while we next saw four other trails of
beaten-down grass, marking the advance of further foes. How many more
were coming on behind we could only surmise, as we watched the six
hill-men who headed them get into a line one before the other, and then
advance, keeping about five yards apart as they came on. From the
position in which our tent was pitched it was impossible for an attack
to be made upon us in the rear, and this circumstance fortunately
allowed of undivided attention to the movements of the hill-men whom we
saw creeping silently forward.
"Wait till the first one of them gets to the opening of our tent,"
whispered Denviers to me; "and while I deal with him shoot down the
second. Keep cool and take a steady aim as he rises from the grass, and
whatever you do, don't miss him."
[Illustration: "HE SULLENLY FLUNG HIS PONIARD DOWN."]
I held my pistol ready as we waited for them to come on, and each second
measured with our eyes the distance which still separated us. Twenty
yards from the tent the foremost of the hill-men took the kris or bent
poniard with which he was armed from between his teeth, and held it
aloft in his right hand as he came warily crawling on a foot at a time
followed by the others, each with his weapon raised as though already
about to plunge it into our throats. It was not a very cheering
spectacle, but we held our weapons ready and watched their advance
through thy grass, determined to thrust them back.
I felt my breath come fast as the first hill-man stopped when within
half-a-dozen yards of the tent and listened carefully. I could have
easily shot him down as he half rose to his feet, and his fierce eyes
glittered in his swarthy face. Almost mechanically I noticed the loose
shirt and trousers which he wore, and saw the white turban lighting up
his bronzed features as he crept right up to our tent and thrust his
head in, confident that those within it were asleep. The next instant he
was down, with Denviers' hand on his throat and a pistol thrust into his
astonished face, as my companion exclaimed:--
"Drop your weapon or I'll shoot you!"
The hill-man glared like a tiger for a moment, then he saw the advantage
of following Denviers' suggestion. He sullenly flung his poniard down,
gasping for breath, just as I covered the second of our enemies with my
pistol and fired. The hill-man raised his arms convulsively in the air,
gave a wild cry, and fell forward upon his face, dead!
The third of those attacking us dashed forward, undaunted at the fate of
the one he saw shot down, only to be flung headlong on the grass the
next instant before the tent, with Hassan kneeling on his chest and the
point of the Arab's sword at his throat.
The rest of the enemy did not wait to continue the combat, but rose from
the grass and dispersed precipitately over the plain, making for the
limestone bridge across the river. I rushed forward to Hassan's
assistance, and bound the captive's arms, while the Arab held him down
as I knotted tightly the sash I had taken from my waist. Then I made for
the tent, to find that Denviers had already secured the first prisoner
by lashing about him a stout piece of tent rope. My companion forced his
captive from the tent into the open plain, where we held a whispered
conversation as to whether the two prisoners should live or die. The
safer plan was undoubtedly to shoot them, for we both agreed that at any
moment our own position might become a critical one if the rest of the
horde made another attempt upon us, as we fully expected would be done.
However, we finally decided to spare their lives, for a time at all
events, and while Hassan and Denviers led the captives across the plain,
I brought from the tent part of a long coil of rope which we had and
followed them. As soon as we neared the river bank we selected two
suitable trees from a clump growing there and lashed the prisoners
securely to them, threatening instant death if they attempted to signal
their whereabouts to any of the hill-men who might be lurking about.
"Get our rifles and ammunition, Hassan," said Denviers to the Arab. Then
turning to me, he continued: "We shall have some tough fighting I expect
when those niggers return, but we are able to hold our own better out of
the tent than in it." Hassan brought our weapons, saying as he handed
them to us:--
"The sahibs are wise to prepare for another attack, since the enemy must
return this way. They have not gone off towards the far mountain peaks,
but crossed yonder limestone bridge instead."
"What do you understand from that movement?" Denviers asked Hassan.
"The sound which we heard at first came from the strange city of which I
spoke," he replied. "Some of the fierce hill-men have made a night
attack upon it, and will soon return this way. Those we have beaten off
have gone to meet them and to speak of the failure to surprise us. What
they are doing in the city round the sunken ship will shortly be
apparent. The whole band is a terrible scourge to the cities of the
Meinam, for, by Allah, as I told the sahibs at Ayuthia, the Hunted Tribe
has a weird history indeed."
Trailing our rifles, we walked through the rank grass, then resting upon
a fallen column, where the shadow of the ruined palace wall concealed us
from the view of the enemy if they crossed the bridge, we listened to
Hassan's story. At the same time we kept a careful watch upon the jagged
limestone spanning the river, ready at a moment's notice to renew the
struggle, and it was well for us that we did so.