“Now me showee you something.”
It was during the noon rest the next day and the Malay had asked the
whites to come a little distance apart from the camp to a fine-looking
banyan tree. They watched him with interest as with the axe he cut down
several lengths of bamboo from a nearby cluster, and, pointing the ends
sharply, having first separated the lengths into bits about two feet
long, began driving them into the yielding bark of the tree. In this way
he had soon made the first four rounds of a primitive ladder.
Although, as yet, he had given them no hint of the object of all this,
they were all sure that he had something really of interest to show them
and forbore asking questions till he was ready to explain the mystery.
Salloo had driven the tenth round of his queer ladder and was about ten
feet from the ground, when Jack drew everybody’s attention to a strange
hissing sound that appeared to come from within the tree.
“Look out for snakes, Salloo,” he warned. But the Malay only nodded his
head confidently and smiled. Donald glanced about nervously. Even
Captain Sparhawk looked apprehensive. As for Muldoon, he shouted, “This
is no place for a son of St. Patrick,” and fled back to camp.
“What’s the matter, Salloo?” asked Mr. Jukes. “Are you in trouble?”
“No trouble, Missel Boss,” rejoined Salloo. “Only bit what you callee
good luck,” grinned the Malay, looking down on them and continuing his
work.
“How good luck?” asked Jack.
“You see plenty soon,” was the cryptic reply, and the Malay drew another
sharp-pointed peg from his girdle and drove it in with vigorous strokes
of the axe. While he did this, the hissing continued, mingled with a
hoarse roaring like that which might be emitted by a disabled foghorn.
Moreover, they could now see that a few feet above Salloo’s head was an
object which alternately was thrust out from the tree trunk and
withdrawn. It was white and sharp-pointed, like one of the pegs he was
driving. It was assuredly not a snake’s head, as they had for a minute
thought, but what was it?
“What’s that right over your head, Salloo?” asked Captain Sparhawk.
“Him buld (bird), captain. Him plentee much bigee buld.”
“Oh, only a bird,” said Mr. Jukes in a disappointed voice. “What sort of
a one?”
“Him hornbill. Ole hen hornbill. She on nest. Old man hornbill he shut
her up in there so she no leave eggs. Him put mud over crack in tree so
as she no put nothing but her beak out. That the way he feedee her.”
So that was the explanation of that object that darted in and out, and
also of the hissing and grunting sounds. Looking closer, they now saw
that at the spot where the bill still kept darting in and out there was
a big longitudinal patch of mud which walled the hen hornbill up as
effectually as certain prisoners were “walled up” in the days of old. As
Salloo got within reaching distance of the nest, he raised his axe and
smashed the mud wall before any of the party could check him. The next
instant his bare arm was plunged fearlessly into the orifice and came
out with his fingers clutching the old hen by the neck. In a moment she
was fluttering, with her neck wrung, at the adventurers’ feet.
“Say, Salloo, you shouldn’t have done that,” called up Jack indignantly.
“That’s a shame.”
The rest echoed his indignation at what seemed an act of wanton cruelty.
Salloo only looked astonished.
“Him plenty good eat. Roast hornbill plenty fine.”
“You see, he takes a different point of view about these things than we
do,” said Captain Sparhawk. “You can’t blame him. Still I wish we could
have prevented it.”
They examined the dead hornbill with much interest. It was a gorgeous
bird, almost as big as a turkey, with a bill of a size altogether
disproportionate to even its large size. This beak was like a gigantic
parrot’s bill and the horny structure extended over almost the entire
head of the bird. It was not unlike the one the boys had shot the night
before and thrown away as not good for food.
“Plentee eggs in there,” said Salloo as he came down, “but they no good
eat.”
“Well, I’m glad there were no young ones to be starved through our
interference,” said Billy, and the others felt as he did.
“Say, I’m going to have a look at that nest,” said Jack suddenly.
“All right. But look out you don’t fall and break your neck,” warned
Raynor. Jack went nimbly up Salloo’s queer ladder and soon reached a
height where he could see into the nest, which was built in a cavity of
the tree and had afterward been carefully walled up with mud,
strengthened by weaving reeds into it. Jack was still examining the nest
when a sudden shadow fell over him. He looked up and above him he saw,
with somewhat of a shock, a great bird whose plumage flashed brilliantly
in the sun and whose huge beak snapped viciously at the boy.
“Look out, look out, him father hornbill,” cried Salloo from the ground.
The hornbill made a swoop at Jack, aiming with that cruel beak straight
for his eyes. The boy put up an arm to defend himself, but the bird
seized it with its parrot-like claws, scratching it badly, and all the
while it kept up a beating of its wings that blinded the boy. Then the
bird suddenly changed its tactics. It swooped off and then made a swift
dash at the boy’s head. It was well for Jack that he had on his stiff
sun helmet or his skull would have been cracked like an egg by that
huge, horny bill. As it was, the helmet was ripped open.
Those below called on him to come down. But the attacks of the great
bird so blinded and bewildered him that he was unable to move a step.
Billy, at the order of Captain Sparhawk, brought a rifle from the camp,
but so close did the bird stay to the boy that there was danger in using
it. Even the most expert of shots would have been quite as likely to hit
Jack as the enraged hornbill.
Salloo had sprung into the tree, and with his ever ready _kriss_ was
ascending to the rescue when Captain Sparhawk saw an opportunity. The
rifle was already at his shoulder and, as the hornbill rose and hovered
for an instant before making another plunge at Jack’s head, his finger
pressed the trigger. A splendid shot, a broken wing, the huge bird
fluttered to the earth and flopped and screamed on the ground till its
strugglings were put an end to by another bullet. Jack remained where he
was for a few seconds to recover his nerves and then, still somewhat
shaken by his experience, he descended.
His arm was badly scratched and Captain Sparhawk was opening the
medicine chest when Salloo intervened. He quickly gathered a handful of
a plant that exuded a sort of thick milk. Crushing the gathered stems on
a stone, he soon had a quantity of this juice, which he spread on the
wounds. The irritation at once left them and Salloo promised a speedy
cure. But it may be said that Jack had no appetite for roast hornbill
that night.