The Argus Pheasant Part 31

As Peter Gross was affixing the required stamp, the door opened and Paddy Rouse entered.

"The baby doll is here and wants to see you," Paddy announced.

"Who?" Peter Gross asked, mystified.

"The yellow kid; old man Muller's chocolate darling," Paddy elucidated.

Peter Gross looked at him in stern reproof.

"Let the Juffrouw Koyala be the Juffrouw Koyala to you hereafter," he commanded harshly.

"Yes, sir." Paddy erased the grin from his lips but not from his eyes.

"Shall I ask the lady to come in?"

"You may request her to enter," Peter Gross said. "And, Paddy--"

"Yes, sir."

"--leave the door open."

"Yes, sir."

The red head bobbed to hide another grin.

Koyala glided in softly as a kitten. She was dressed as usual in the Malay-Javanese costume of kabaya and sarong. Peter Gross could not help noticing the almost mannish length of her stride and the haughty, arrogant tilt of her head.

"Unconquerable as the sea," he mused. "And apt to be as tempestuous.

She's well named--the Argus Pheasant."

He placed a chair for her. This time she did not hesitate to accept it.

As she seated herself she crossed her ankles in girlish unconsciousness.

Peter Gross could not help noticing how slim and perfectly shaped those ankles were, and how delicately her exquisitely formed feet tapered in the soft, doe-skin sandals.

"Well, _juffrouw_, which of my _controlleurs_ is in mischief now?" he asked in mock resignation.

Koyala flashed him a quick smile, a swift, dangerous, alluring smile.

"Am I always complaining, _mynheer_?" she asked.

Peter Gross leaned back comfortably. He was smiling, too, a smile of masculine contentment. "No, not always, _juffrouw_," he conceded. "But you kept me pretty busy at first."

"It was necessary, _mynheer_."

Peter Gross nodded a.s.sent. "To be sure, _juffrouw_, you did have reason to complain," he agreed gravely. "Things were pretty bad, even worse than I had expected to find them. But we are gradually improving conditions. I believe that my officers now know what is expected of them."

He glanced at her reprovingly. "You haven't been here much this week; this is only the second time."

A mysterious light flashed in Koyala's eyes, but Peter Gross was too intent on admiring her splendid physical sufficiency to notice it.

"You are very busy, Mynheer Resident," Koyala purred. "I take too much of your time as it is with my trifling complaints."

"Not at all, not at all," Peter Gross negatived vigorously. "The more you come, the better I am pleased." Koyala flashed a swift glance at him. "Come every day if you can. You are my interpreter, the only voice by which I can speak to the people of Bulungan and be heard. I want you to know what we are doing and why we are doing it; there is nothing secret here that you should not know."

He leaned forward earnestly.

"We must work out the salvation of Bulungan together, _juffrouw_. I am relying very much upon you. I cannot do it alone; your people will not believe in me. Unless you speak for me there will be misunderstandings, maybe bloodshed."

Koyala's eyes lowered before his beseeching gaze and the earnestness of his plea.

"You are very kind, _mynheer_," she said softly. "But you overestimate my powers. I am only a woman--it is the Rajahs who rule."

"One word from Koyala has more force in Bulungan than the mandate of the great council itself," Peter Gross contradicted. "If you are with me, if you speak for me, the people are mine, and all the Rajahs, Gustis, and Datus in the residency could not do me harm."

He smiled frankly.

"I want to be honest with you, _juffrouw_. I am thoroughly selfish in asking these things. I want to be known as the man who redeemed Bulungan, even though the real work is yours."

Koyala's face was hidden. Peter Gross saw that her lips pressed together tightly and that she was undergoing some powerful emotion. He looked at her anxiously, fearful that he had spoken too early, that she was not yet ready to commit herself utterly to his cause.

"I came to see you, _mynheer_, about an affair that happened in the country of the Sadong Dyaks," Koyala announced quietly.

Peter Gross drew back. Koyala's reply showed that she was not yet ready to join him, he perceived. Swallowing his disappointment, he asked in mock dismay:

"Another complaint, _juffrouw_?"

"One of Lkath's own people, a Sadong Dyak, was killed by a poisoned arrow," Koyala stated. "The arrow is tufted with heron's feathers; Jahi's people use those on their arrows. Lkath has heard that the head of his tribesman now hangs in front of Jahi's hut."

The smile that had been on Peter Gross's lips died instantly. His face became drawn and hard.

"I cannot believe it!" he exclaimed at length in a low voice. "Jahi has sworn brotherhood with me and sworn to keep the peace. We rubbed noses and anointed each others' foreheads with the blood of a fresh-killed buffalo."

"If you choose the hill people for your brothers, the sea people will not accept you," Koyala said coldly.

"I choose no nation and have no favorites," Peter Gross replied sternly.

"I have only one desire--to deal absolute and impartial justice to all.

Let me think."

He bowed his head in his hands and closed his eyes in thought. Koyala watched him like a tigress in the bush.

"Who found the body of the slain man?" he asked suddenly, looking up again.

"Lkath himself, and some of his people," Koyala replied.

"Do the Sadong Dyaks use the sumpitan?"

"The Dyaks of the sea do not fight their enemies with poison," Koyala said scornfully. "Only the hill Dyaks do that."

"H-m! Where was the body? How far from the stream?"