replaced by that look of perfect rest and peace which is only to be seen in the
countenance of a sleeping child.
Ku-îsh gathered up the fish, and took all the tobacco he could find on Kria's
body, for a Sâkai rarely loses sight completely of those cravings of appetite,
which, with him, are never wholly satisfied. Then, when the darkness had shut
down over the land, he crept to Kria's house, and bade Chêp follow him. She
came without a word, for women whose ancestors have been slaves for
generations have very little will of their own. She wept furtively when Ku-îsh
told her, in a few passionless sentences, that he had killed Kria and his son, and
she bewailed herself aloud when, at their first halting-place, she received the
severe chastisement, which Ku-îsh dealt out to her with no grudging hand, as her
share in the general punishment. But, when the thrashing was over, she followed
him meekly, with the tears still wet upon her cheeks, making no attempt to
escape. Thus Ku-îsh, the Porcupine, and Chêp, the Bird, made their way through
the strange forests, until they had once more regained the familiar Sâkai country,
and were safe among their own people.
Pursuit into such a place is impossible, for a Sâkai comes and goes like a
shadow, and can efface himself utterly when he desires to do so. Thus, though
Kria's relatives clamoured for vengeance, little could be done. I was myself at
that time in charge of the district in which these things occurred, and it was only
by the most solemn promises that no evil should befall them, that I induced the
various Sâkai chiefs to meet me near the limits of their country. My request that
Ku-îsh should be handed over for trial was received by the assembled elders as a
demand which was manifestly ridiculous. Ku-îsh was in the jungle, and they
knew that pursuit would be useless, unless his own people aided in the chase.
This they were determined not to do, and I, being bound by promises not to harm
the Chiefs, was powerless to force them to come to my assistance.
At length, a very aged man, the principal headman present, a wrinkled old
savage, scarred by encounters with wild beasts, and mottled with skin disease
and dirt, lifted up his voice and spoke, shaking his straggling mop of frowsy
grizzled hair in time to the words he uttered.
'There is a custom, Tûan, when such things occur. The Porcupine has killed the
Gob (Malay), and our tribe must repay sevenfold. Seven lives for a life. It is the
custom.'
The proposal sounded generous, and I was inclined to jump at it, until, on