The Argus Pheasant

With the words he placed in Muller's hands two envelopes plentifully decorated with sealing-wax stamped with the great seal of the Netherlands. The controlleur took them with trembling fingers. Peter Gross calmly appropriated a chair. As he seated himself he remarked:

"Gentlemen, you may sit."

Van Slyck ignored the permission and strolled to one end of the veranda. He was thinking deeply, and all the while stole covert looks at Peter Gross. Had he been mistaken, after all, in his estimate of the man? Was this apparent guilelessness and simplicity a mask? Were Koyala and Muller right? Or was the resident's sudden assumption of dignity a petty vanity finding vent in the display of newly acquired powers?

He stole another look. That face, it was so frank and ingenuous, so free from cunning and deceit, and so youthful. Its very boyishness persuaded Van Slyck. Vanity was the inspiration for the resident's sudden assertion of the prerogatives of his office, he decided, the petty vanity of a boor eager to demonstrate authority. Confidence restored, he became keenly alert for a chance to humble this froward Yankee.

It was some time before Muller finished reading the documents. He was breathing heavily the while, for he felt that he was reading his own death-warrant. There was no doubting their authenticity, for they were stamped with the twin lions of the house of Orange and the motto, "Je Maintiendrai." The signature at the bottom of each was the familiar scrawl of Java's gamecock governor.

Muller stared at them blankly for a long time, as though he half hoped to find some mitigation of the blow that swept his vast administrative powers as acting resident from him to the magistracy of a district. Dropping them on his lap at last with a weary sigh, he remarked:

"Welcome, Mynheer Gross, to Bulungan. I wish I could say more, but I cannot. The most I can say is that I am happy his excellency has at last yielded to my petition and has relieved me of a portion of my duties. It is a hard, hard residency to govern, mynheer."

"A splendid start," Van Slyck muttered to himself under his breath.

"So I have been informed, mynheer," Peter Gross replied gravely. "Pardon me a moment."

He turned toward Van Slyck: "Captain, I have a letter for you also from his excellency. It will inform you of my appointment."

"It would be better form, perhaps, mynheer, for me to receive his excellency's commands at Fort Wilhelmina," Van Slyck replied suavely, delighted at being able to turn the tables.

"Very true, very true, kapitein, if you insist," Peter Gross agreed quietly. "I hope to visit you at the fort within the hour. In the mean time you will excuse Mynheer Muller and me."

For the second time a cold chill of doubt seized Van Slyck. Was it possible that he had misjudged his man? If he had, it was doubly dangerous to leave Muller alone with him. He resolved to force the issue.

"A thousand pardons, mynheer," he apologized smilingly. "Mynheer Muller just now requested me to remain."

A swift change came into the face of Peter Gross. His chin shot forward; in place of the frank simplicity on which Van Slyck had based his estimate was a look of authority.

"Mynheer Muller cancels that invitation at my request," he announced sternly.

Van Slyck glanced in quick appeal at his associate, but Muller's eyes were already lowering under Peter Gross's commanding glance. Unable to find a straw of excuse for holding the captain, the controlleur stammered:

"Certainly, mynheer. I will see you later, kapitein."

Even then Van Slyck lingered, afraid now to leave Muller alone. But the cold, gray eyes of Peter Gross followed him; they expressed a decision from which there was no appeal. Furious at Muller, furious at his own impotence, the captain walked slowly across the veranda. Half-way down the steps he turned with a glare of defiance, but thought better of it. Raging inwardly, and a prey to the blackest passions, he strode toward the stockade. The unhappy sentinel at the gate, a Javanese colonial, was dozing against the brass cannon.

"Devil take you, is this the way you keep guard?" Van Slyck roared and leaped at the man. His sword flashed from its scabbard and he brought the flat of the blade on the unhappy wretch's head. The Javanese dropped like a log.

"Bring that carrion to the guard-house and put some one on the gate that can keep his eyes open," Van Slyck shouted to young Lieutenant Banning, officer of the day. White to the lips, Banning saluted, and executed the orders.

In barracks that night the soldiers whispered fearfully to each other that a budjang brani (evil spirit) had seized their captain again.

CHAPTER XIII

A Fever Antidote

"You have found Bulungan a difficult province to govern, mynheer?" Peter Gross asked.

The words were spoken in a mild, ingratiating manner. Peter Gross's voice had the friendly quality that so endeared him to all who made his acquaintance, and the harshness that had distinguished his curt dismissal of the supercilious Van Slyck was wholly absent.

Muller wiped away the drops of perspiration that had gathered on his forehead. A prey to conscience, Van Slyck's dismissal had seemed to him the beginning of the end.

"Ach, mynheer," he faltered, "it has been a heavy task. Too much for one man, altogether too much. Since Mynheer de Jonge left here two years ago I have been both resident and controlleur. I have worked night and day, and the heavy work, and the worry, have made me almost bald."

That a connection existed between baldness and overwork was a new theory to Peter Gross and rather amusing, since he knew the circumstances. But not the faintest flicker of a smile showed on his face.

"You have found it difficult, then, I presume, to keep up with all your work?" he suggested.

Muller instantly grasped at the straw. "Not only difficult, mynheer, but wholly impossible," he vehemently affirmed. "My reports are far behind. I suppose his excellency told you that?"

He scanned Peter Gross's face anxiously. The latter's serenity remained undisturbed.

"His excellency told me very little," he replied. "He suggested that I consult with you and Captain Van Slyck to get your ideas on what is needed for bettering conditions here. I trust I will have your coöperation, mynheer?"

Muller breathed a silent sigh of relief. "That you will, mynheer," he assured fervently. "I shall be glad to help you all I can. And so will Kapitein Van Slyck, I am sure of that. You will find him a good man – a little proud, perhaps, and headstrong, like all these soldiers, but an experienced officer." Muller nodded sagely.

"I am glad to hear that," Peter Gross replied. "The work is a little new to me – I presume you know that?"

"So I heard, mynheer. This is your first post as resident?"

Peter Gross's eyelids quivered a trifle. Muller's admission revealed that he had had correspondence with Ah Sing, for from no other source could the news have leaked out.

"This is my first post," he acknowledged.

"Possibly you have served as controlleur?" Muller suggested.

"I am a sailor," Peter Gross replied. "This is my first state appointment."

"Then my experience may be of value to you, mynheer," Muller declared happily. "You understand accounts, of course?"

"In a measure. But I am more a sailor than a supercargo, mynheer."

"To be sure, to be sure," Muller acquiesced heartily. "A sailor to the sea and to fighting in the bush, and a penman to his books. Leave the accounts to me; I will take care of them for you, mynheer. You will have plenty to do, keeping the tribes in order. It was more than I could do. These Dyaks and Malays are good fighters."

"So I have been told," Peter Gross assented dryly.

"They told you correctly, mynheer. But they will get a stern master now – we have heard of your work at Lombock, mynheer."

The broad compliment was accompanied by an even broader smile. Muller was very much pleased with himself, and thought he was handling a delicate situation in a manner that Van Slyck himself could not have improved upon.

Peter Gross's gravity did not relax. "How are the natives? Do you have much difficulty?" he inquired.

Muller assumed a wobegone expression. "Ach, mynheer," he exclaimed dolorously, "those hill Dyaks are devils. It is one raid after another; they will not let us alone. The rice-fields are swept bare. What the Dyaks do not get, the floods and typhoons get, and the weevils eat the stubble. We have not had a crop in two years. The rice we gathered for taxes from those villages where there was a little blessing on the harvest we had to distribute among the villages where the crop failed to keep our people from starving. That is why we could not ship to Batavia. I wish his excellency would come here himself and see how things are; he would not be so critical about the taxes that are not paid."

"Do the coast Dyaks ever make trouble?" Peter Gross asked.

Muller glanced at him shrewdly.