The Rajah of Dah Part 18

"No, it isn't," said the boy, frowning. "You don't believe it? Ask him there if a croc didn't nearly seize him this morning."

"What!" cried Murray.

"Yes, uncle," said Ned. "It was so, and Frank Braine s.n.a.t.c.hed me away just in time."

"Oh, get out! I only pushed you out of his way. They are nasty beggars."

He turned to the Malay guard and said a few words, to which a chorus which sounded like a.s.sent came at once.

"They say you have to be very careful, for the crocs kill a good many people every year."

"Then we will be very careful," said Murray; "and I beg your pardon for doubting you."

"Oh, that don't matter."

"And let me thank you for helping Ned here this morning."

"That's nothing," cried Frank, hastily. "Hi! Abdul!" he shouted to one of the rowers; and he hurried from beneath, the mat awning overhead, amongst the crew to the man in the bows, evidently to avoid listening to further thanks, and sat down to go on talking to the Malay, whose heavy stolid face lit up as he listened.

"So you had quite an adventure?" said Murray.

"Yes, uncle," replied Ned; and he then went on to tell of the horrible scene he had witnessed.

Murray listened with his brows knit, and then after sitting thoughtful and silent for some minutes: "Mr Braine and the doctor have not exaggerated the situation, Ned," he said. "Well, my lad, we must make the best of it. I daresay we can spend a month here advantageously, but we must be careful not to upset the rajah, for, though he can be a capital friend, and send us out collecting in this royal way, it is evident that he can prove a very dangerous enemy. You see he is a man who has the power of life and death in his hands, and does not hesitate about using it. We are beyond help from the settlement, and unmistakably his prisoners."

"Well, I don't mind being a prisoner, uncle, if he is going to treat us like this."

"Good, lad. I'll take a leaf out of your book, and make the best of things. This is quite new ground for a naturalist, so let's set aside all worry about where we are, and think only of the wonderful objects about us."

Ned was already following out that plan, and wishing his uncle would not worry about other things, for they were riding at a pretty good rate up the clear sparkling river, and pa.s.sing scene after scene of tropic loveliness that excited a constant desire in the boy to go ash.o.r.e and roam amongst grand trees of the loveliest tints of green, all different from anything he had seen before.

Just then Frank came back.

"Got your shooting tackle ready?" he said.

"No, but I was thinking it was time," replied Murray, "and that we might as well land directly we see a bird or two. I want to get all the specimens I can."

"Land!" said Frank, with a merry laugh; "land here?"

"Yes; not to go any distance. Just for a ramble, and then return to the boat."

"But you couldn't, nor yet for miles farther on."

"Why? The country on either bank looks lovely."

"The trees do, but that's all jungle."

"Well, I see that," said Murray, rather impatiently.

"But you don't know what our jungle is, sir. You couldn't get a dozen yards any way."

"The trees are not so thick as that."

"No, but the undergrowth is, and it's all laced together, and bound with p.r.i.c.kly canes, so that at every step you must have men to go before you with their parangs to chop and clear the way."

"Is a parang a chopper?"

"They chop with it," replied Frank. "It's the sword thing the men carry to cut down the wild vines and canes with."

"Do you mean to say we couldn't get through there?" said Ned.

"Yes, of course I do. Like to try? I did when I first came. Why, in five minutes you'd be horribly scratched, and your clothes torn half off your back, and you so hot you couldn't bear yourself."

_c.o.c.k-a-doodle-do_!

It was a peculiar broken spasmodic crow from some little distance in the jungle, and Ned turned upon the Resident's son, laughingly: "Why, there must be a road there to that farm or cottage and back."

There was an answering crow from farther away.

"Is there a village close by?" asked Murray.

"If there was a village, it would be here," said Frank, showing his white teeth. "This is the high-road of the country, and the villages are all on the rivers."

"But there must be people who keep fowls in there."

"Yes," said Frank, merrily; "Mother Nature does. Those are jungle c.o.c.ks crowing. I say, look out. Don't you want one of those?"

He pointed to where a lovely bluish bird, with a long tail ending in oval disks like tiny tennis racquets, was seated some distance ahead upon a bare branch; but almost as he spoke the bird took flight, and went right on, up the river like a flash of blue light.

"Never mind; you'll have plenty more chances, and you'll soon know as much about the place as I do."

The guns were brought out of their woollen bags and charged, and the boat glided on, steered closer in to one bank now, so as to give the naturalist a better chance of a shot; with the result that he brought down in the course of the next two hours, as they followed the winding course of the river, shut in on both sides by the tall flower-decked trees, two brilliant racquet-tailed kingfishers, a pink-breasted dove, and a tiny sunbird, decked in feathers that seemed to have been bronzed and burnished with metallic tints of ruby, purple, and gold.

These were carefully picked up from the water in which they fell, laid in the sun to dry their feathers, and then put aside for preparation that evening. After this specimens were seen of gorgeously painted b.u.t.terflies, one being evidently seven or eight inches across, but capture was out of the question, and Ned watched them longingly as they flitted across the stream.

"I can take you where you can catch them," said Frank; "along by the edge of the jungle where the rice-fields are; only the worst of b.u.t.terfly catching there is, that a tiger may fly out and b.u.t.ter you, as they do the men sometimes who are at work over the rice."

"Not a pleasant way of b.u.t.terfly hunting, I must say," said Murray, who, gun in hand, was watching the edge of the jungle. "What's the matter?"

For the men had suddenly ceased rowing, and the naga glided slowly on, diminishing in speed till it was stationary, and then, yielding to the influence of the stream, began to glide back.

Meanwhile an excited conversation was going on between the princ.i.p.al boatman and Frank Braine, the former pointing up into a huge tree whose boughs overhung the river, their tips almost touching the surface, and naturally both Murray and Ned gazed up too.

"What is it--a monkey or a bird?" said Ned, eagerly.

"Yes, I see it now," said Frank. Then, telling the men in Malay to keep the boat stationary, he turned to Murray: "Here's a shot for you, sir.

I couldn't see it at first. Their eyes are sharper than ours. Wait a minute till the boat's right. That's it. Stop now, both of you look right in through that opening among the leaves, and you'll see it on a branch."