The Argus Pheasant

"But, kapitein, it might be a warning," Muller cried desperately.

"Heaven doesn't send ravens to cheat such rogues as you and I from the gallows, mynheer," Van Slyck mocked. "We might as well get ready to meet our new resident. I see a boat putting off from the ship."

CHAPTER XII

Peter Gross's Reception

When Peter Gross stepped ashore at the foot of the slope on which the fort and government buildings stood, three thousand pairs of eyes, whose owners were securely hidden in the copses and undergrowth for a quarter of a mile in both directions along the shore-line, watched his every movement. With the lightning celerity with which big news travels word had been spread through Bulungan town that the new resident was coming ashore, and every inhabitant possessed of sound legs to bear him had run, crawled, or scrambled to a favorable patch of undergrowth where he could get a first glimpse of the orang blanda chief without being observed.

Perfectly aware of this scrutiny, but calmly oblivious to it, Peter Gross stepped out of the boat and directed the sailors who rowed it to return to their ship. As their oars bit the water he faced the path that wound up the hillside and walked along it at a dignified and easy pace. His sharp ears caught the incessant rustle of leaves, a rustle not made by the breeze, and the soft grinding of bits of coral under the pressure of naked feet.

Once he surprised a dusky face in the bush, but his glance roved to the next object in his line of vision in placid unconcern. As he mounted the rise he made for the controlleur's home, strolling along as calmly as though he were on a Batavia lane.

"Duivel noch toe!" Muller exclaimed as the boat returned to the ship. "He is coming here alone." His voice had an incredulous ring as though he half doubted the evidence of his own senses.

Van Slyck's eyes danced with satisfaction, and his saturnine smile was almost Mephistophelian.

"By Nassau, I was right, after all, mynheer," he exclaimed. "He's an ass of a Yankee that Van Schouten is having some sport with in sending him here."

"There may be something behind this, kapitein," Muller cautioned apprehensively, but Van Slyck cut him short.

"Behind this, mynheer? The fool does not even know how to maintain the dignity due his office. Would he land this way, like a pedler with his pack, if he did? Oh, we are going to have some rare sport – "

Van Slyck's merriment broke loose in a guffaw.

"You-you will not do anything violent, kapitein?" Muller asked apprehensively.

"Violent?" Van Slyck exclaimed. "I wouldn't hurt him for a thousand guilders, mynheer. He's going to be more fun than even you."

The frank sneer that accompanied the remark made the captain's meaning sufficiently clear to penetrate even so sluggish a mind as the controlleur's. He reddened, and an angry retort struggled to his lips, but he checked it before it framed itself into coherent language. He was too dependent on Van Slyck, he realized, to risk offending the latter now, but for the first time in their acquaintanceship his negative dislike of his more brilliant associate deepened to a positive aversion.

"What are we going to do, kapitein?" he asked quietly.

"Welcome him, mynheer!" Again the sardonic smile. "Treat him to some of your fine cigars and a bottle of your best Hollands. Draw him out, make him empty his belly to us. When we have sucked him dry and drenched him with liquor we will pack him back to the Prins to tell Kapitein Enckel what fine fellows we are. To-morrow we'll receive him with all ceremony – I'll instruct him this afternoon how a resident is installed in his new post and how he must conduct himself.

"Enckel will leave here without a suspicion, Mynheer Gross will be ready to trust even his purse to us if we say the word, and we will have everything our own way as before. But s-s-st! Here he comes!" He lifted a restraining hand. "Lord, what a shoulder of beef! Silence, now, and best your manners, mynheer. Leave the talking to me."

Peter Gross walked along the kenari-tree shaded lane between the evergreen hedges clipped with characteristic Dutch primness to a perfect plane. Behind him formed a growing column of natives whose curiosity had gotten the better of their diffidence.

The resident's keen eyes instantly ferreted out Van Slyck and Muller in the shadows of the veranda, but he gave no sign of recognition. Mounting the steps of the porch, he stood for a moment in dignified expectancy, his calm, gray eyes taking the measure of each of its occupants.

An apprehensive shiver ran down Muller's spine as he met Peter Gross's glance – those gray eyes were so like the silent, inscrutable eyes of the stranger in de Jonge's chair whom he saw in his dream. It was Van Slyck who spoke first.

"You were looking for some one, mynheer?" he asked.

"For Mynheer Muller, the controlleur and acting resident. I think I have found him."

The mildness with which these words were spoken restored the captain's aplomb, momentarily shaken by Peter Gross's calm, disconcerting stare.

"You have a message for us?"

"I have," Peter Gross replied.

"Ah, from Kapitein Enckel, I suppose," Van Slyck remarked urbanely. "Your name is – " He paused significantly.

"It is from his excellency, the Jonkheer Van Schouten," Peter Gross corrected quietly.

Peter Gross's tolerance of this interrogation convinced Van Slyck that he had to do with an inferior intelligence suddenly elevated to an important position and very much at sea in it.

"And your message, I understand, is for Mynheer Muller, the controlleur?" the captain inquired loftily with a pert uptilt of his chin.

"For Mynheer Muller, the controlleur," Peter Gross acknowledged gravely.

"Ah, yes. This is Mynheer Muller." He indicated the controlleur with a flourish. "But you have not yet told us your name."

"I am Peter Gross."

"Ah, yes, Pieter Gross. Pieter Gross." The captain repeated the name with evident relish. "Pieter Gross. Mynheer Pieter Gross."

There was a subtle emphasis on the mynheer– a half-doubtful use of the word, as though he questioned Peter Gross's right to a gentleman's designation. It was designed to test the sailor.

Peter Gross's face did not change a muscle. Turning to the controlleur, he asked in a voice of unruffled calm: "May I speak to you privately, mynheer?"

Muller glanced apprehensively at Van Slyck. The fears inspired by his dreams made him more susceptible to ulterior impressions than the captain, whose naturally more acute sensibilities were blunted by the preconceived conviction that he had an ignorant Yankee to deal with. Van Slyck smiled cynically and observed:

"Am I in the way, Mynheer Gross?" Again the ironic accent to the mynheer. He rose to go, but Muller stayed him with the cry:

"Neen, neen, kapitein. Whatever comes from the governor concerns you, too. Stay with us, and we will see what his excellency has to say."

None knew the importance of first impressions better than the captain. If the new resident could be thwarted in his purpose of seeing Muller alone that achievement would exercise its influence on all their future relations, Van Slyck perceived.

Assuming an expression of indifference, he sank indolently into an easy chair. When he looked up he found the gray eyes of Peter Gross fixed full upon him.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself further, captain," Peter Gross said. "I am Mynheer Gross, of Batavia, your new resident by virtue of his excellency the Jonkheer Van Schouten's appointment."

Van Slyck's faint, cynical smile deepened a trifle.

"Ah, mynheer has been appointed resident," he remarked non-committally.

Peter Gross's face hardened sternly.

"It is not the custom in Batavia, captain, for officers of the garrison to be seated while their superiors stand."

For a moment the astonished captain lost his usual assurance. In that moment he unwittingly scrambled to his feet in response to the commanding look of the gray eyes that stared at him so steadily. The instant his brain cleared he regretted the action, but another lightning thought saved him from the folly of defying the resident by reseating himself in the chair he had vacated. Furious at Peter Gross, furious at himself, he struggled futilely for an effective reply and failed to find it. In the end he took refuge in a sullen silence.

Peter Gross turned again to Muller.

"Here are my credentials, mynheer, and a letter from his excellency, the governor-general," he announced simply.