The Argus Pheasant

A young Dyak chief suddenly sprang to the middle of the floor. His trappings showed that he was of Gusti rank.

"I have heard the words of the white chief and they are the words of a master speaking to his slaves," he shouted. "When the buck deserts his doe to run from the hunter, when the pheasant leaves the nest of eggs she has hatched to the mercy of the serpent, when the bear will no longer fight for her cubs, then will the Sadong Dyaks sit idly by while the robber despoils their villages and wait for the justice of the white man, but not before. This is my answer, white chief!"

Whipping his kris from his girdle, he hurled it at the floor in front of Peter Gross. The steel sank deeply into the wood, the handle quivering and scintillating in a shaft of sunlight that entered through a crack in the roof.

An instant hush fell on the assembly. Through the haze and murk Peter Gross saw black eyes that flamed with hate, foaming lips, and passion-distorted faces. The lust for blood was on them, a moment more and nothing could hold them back, he saw. He sprang to the center of the platform.

"Men of Bulungan, hear me," he shouted in a voice of thunder. "Your measure of wickedness is full. You have poisoned the men sent here to rule you, you have strangled your judges and thrown their bodies to the crocodiles, you have killed our soldiers with poisoned arrows. To-day I am here, the last messenger of peace the white man will send you. Accept peace now, and you will be forgiven. Refuse it, and your villages will be burned, your people will be hunted from jungle to swamp and swamp to highland, there will be no brake too thick and no cave too deep to hide them from our vengeance. The White Father will make the Dyaks of Bulungan like the people of the lands under the sea – a name only. Choose ye, what shall it be?"

For a moment his undaunted bearing and the terrible threat he had uttered daunted them. They shrank back like jackals before the lion, their voices stilled. Then a deep guttural voice, that seemed to come through the wall behind the resident's chair, cried:

"Kill him, Dyaks of Bulungan. He speaks with two tongues to make you slaves on the plantations."

Peter Gross sprang toward the wall and crashed his fist through the bamboo. A section gave way, revealing an enclosed corridor leading to another building. The corridor was empty.

The mischief had been done, however, and the courage of the natives revived. "Kill the white man, kill him," the hoarse cry arose. A dozen krisses flashed. A spear was hurled, it missed Peter Gross by a hair's breadth. Dyaks and Malays surged forward, Wobanguli alone was between him and them. Paddy Rouse sprang inside with drawn pistol, but a hand struck up his pistol arm and his harmless shot went through the roof. A half-dozen sinewy forms pinned him to the ground.

At the same instant Peter Gross drew his automatic and leaped toward Wobanguli. Before the Rajah could spring aside the resident's hand closed over his throat and the resident's pistol pressed against his head.

"One move and I shoot," Peter Gross cried.

The brown wave stopped for a moment, but it was only a moment, Peter Gross realized, for life was cheap in Borneo, even a Rajah's life. He looked wildly about – then the tumult stilled as suddenly as though every man in the hall had been simultaneously stricken with paralysis.

Gross's impressions of the next few moments were rather vague. He dimly realized that some one had come between him and the raging mob. That some one was waving the natives back. It was a woman. He intuitively sensed her identity before he perceived her face – it was Koyala.

The brown wave receded sullenly, like the North sea backing from the dikes of Holland. Peter Gross replaced his pistol in its holster and released Wobanguli – Koyala was speaking. In the morgue-like silence her silvery voice rang with startling clearness.

"Are you mad, my children of Bulungan?" she asked sorrowfully. "Have you lost your senses? Would the taking of this one white life compensate for the misery you would bring on our people?"

She paused an instant. Every eye was riveted upon her. Her own glorious orbs turned heavenward, a mystic light shone in them, and she raised her arms as if in invocation.

"Hear me, my children," she chanted in weird, Druidical tones. "Into the north flew the Argus Pheasant, into the north, through jungle and swamp and canebrake, by night and by day, for the Hanu Token were her guides and the great god Djath and his servants, the spirits of the Gunong Agong called her. She passed through the country of the sea Dyaks, and she saw no peace; she passed through the country of the hill Dyaks, and she saw no peace. Up, up she went, up the mountain of the flaming fires, up to the very edge of the pit where the great god Djath lives in the flames that never die. There she saw Djath, there she heard his voice, there she received the message that he bade her bring to his children, his children of Bulungan. Here is the message, chiefs of my people, listen and obey."

Every Dyak groveled on the ground and even the Malay Mahometans crooked their knees and bowed their heads almost to the earth. Swaying from side to side, Koyala began to croon:

"Hear my words, O princes of Bulungan, hear my words I send you by the Bintang Burung. Lo, a white man has come among you, and his face is fair and his words are good and his heart feels what his lips speak. Lo, I have placed him among you to see if in truth there is goodness and honesty in the heart of a white man. If his deeds be as good as his words, then will you keep him, and guard him, and honor him, but if his heart turns false and his lips speak deceitfully, then bring him to me that he may burn in the eternal fires that dwell with me. Lo, that ye may know him, I have given him a servant whose head I have touched with fire from the smoking mountain."

At that moment Paddy, hatless and disheveled, plunged through the crowd toward Peter Gross. A ray of sunlight coming through the roof fell on his head. His auburn hair gleamed like a burst of flame. Koyala pointed at him and cried dramatically:

"See, the servant with the sacred flame."

"The sacred flame," Dyaks and Malays both muttered awesomely, as they crowded back from the platform.

"Who shall be the first to make blood-brother of this white man?" Koyala cried. The hill Dyak chieftain who had counseled peace came forward.

"Jahi of the Jahi Dyaks will," he said. Peter Gross looked at him keenly, for Jahi was reputed to be the boldest raider and head-hunter in the hills. The Dyak chief opened a vein in his arm with a dagger and gave the weapon to Peter Gross. Without hesitating, the resident did the same with his arm. The blood intermingled a moment, then they rubbed noses and each repeated the word: "Blood-brother," three times.

One by one Dyaks and Malays came forward and went through the same ceremony. A few slipped out the door without making the brotherhood covenant, Peter Gross noticed. He was too elated to pay serious attention to these; the battle was already won, he believed.

In the shadows in the rear of the hall Van Slyck whispered in the ear of a Malay chieftain. The Malay strode forward after the ceremonies were over, and said gravely:

"Blood-brother, we have made you one of us and our ruler, as the great god Djath hath commanded. But there was one condition in the god's commands. If you fail, you are to be delivered to Djath for judgment, and no evil shall come upon our people from your people for that sentence. Will you pledge us this?"

They were all looking at him, Malay, hill Dyak, and sea Dyak, and every eye said: "Pledge!" Peter Gross realized that if he would keep their confidence he must give his promise. But a glance toward Van Slyck had revealed to him the Malay's source of inspiration, and he sensed the trick that lay beneath the demand.

"Will you pledge, brother?" the Malay demanded again.

"I pledge," Peter Gross replied firmly.

CHAPTER XVII

The Poisoned Arrow

"And so," Peter Gross concluded, "I pledged my life that we'd put things to rights in Bulungan."

Captain Carver did not answer. It was dim twilight of the evening following the council meeting – they were met in Peter Gross's den, and the captain had listened with an air of critical attention to the nocturnal chirping of the crickets outside. Had it not been for occasional curt, illuminative questions, Peter Gross might have thought him asleep. He was a man of silences, this Captain Carver, a man after Peter Gross's own heart.

"On the other hand they pledged that they would help me," Peter Gross resumed. "There are to be no more raids, the head-hunters will be delivered to justice, and there will be no more trading with the pirates or payment of tribute to them. Man for man, chief for chief, they pledged. I don't trust all of them. I know Wobanguli will violate his oath, for he is a treacherous scoundrel, treacherous and cunning but lacking in courage, or his nerve wouldn't have failed him yesterday. The Datu of Bandar is a bad man. I hardly expected him to take the oath, and it won't take much to persuade him to violate it. The Datu of Padang, the old man who lost the forty buffaloes, is a venomous old rascal that we'll have to watch. Lkath of the Sadong Dyaks left while we were administering the oath; there is no blood of fealty on his forehead. But I trust the hill Dyaks, they are with me. And we have Koyala."

Another silence fell between the resident and his lieutenant. It was quite dark now and the ends of their cigars glowed ruddily. There was a tap on the door and Paddy Rouse announced himself.

"Shall I get a light, sir?" he asked.

"I don't think it is necessary, Paddy," Peter Gross replied kindly. He had conceived a great affection for the lad. He turned toward Carver.

"What do you think of the situation?" he asked pointedly.

Carver laid his cigar aside. It was not casually done, but with the deliberateness of the man who feels he has an unpleasant duty before him.

"I was trying to decide whether Koyala is an asset or a liability," he replied.

Peter Gross, too, listened for a moment to the chirping of the crickets before he answered.

"She saved my life," he said simply.

"She did," Captain Carver acknowledged. "I'm wondering why."

Peter Gross stared into the evening silence.

"I believe you misjudge her, captain," he remonstrated gently. "She hasn't had much chance in life. She's had every reason for hating us – all whites – but she has the welfare of her people at heart. She's a patriot. It's the one passion of her life, the one outlet for her starved and stunted affections. Her Dyak blood leads her to extremes. We've got to curb her savage nature as far as we can, and if she does break the bounds occasionally, overlook it. But I don't question her absolute sincerity. That is why I trust her."

"If she were all Dyak I might think as you do," Captain Carver said slowly. "But I never knew mixed blood to produce anything noble. It's the mixture of bloods in her I'm afraid of. I've seen it in the Philippines and among the Indians. It's never any good."

"There have been some notable half-breed patriots," Peter Gross remarked with a half-smile that the darkness curtained.

"Dig into their lives and you'll find that what an infatuated people dubbed patriotism was just damned meanness. Never a one of them, but was after loot, not country."

"You have old Sachsen's prejudices," Peter Gross said. "Did I tell you about the letter I got from him? I'll let you read it later, it's a shame to spoil this evening. Sachsen warns me not to trust the girl, says she's a fiend. He coupled her name with Ah Sing's." The vicious snap of the resident's teeth was distinctly audible. God, how an old man's tongue clacks to scandal. "I thought Sachsen was above it, but 'Rumor sits on the housetop,' as Virgil says…"