“Sudah mati (dead), Tuan,” he answered with dignity. “Tiger over there, Tuan.
Sladang kill. I hid here and wait for Aboo Din!”
He touched his forehead with the back of his brown palm. There was nothing,
either in the little fellow’s bearing or words, that betrayed fear or bravado. It was
only one mishap more or less to him.
We followed Baboo’s lead to the edge of the jungle, and there, stretched out in
the hot sand, lay the great, tawny beast, stamped and pawed until he was almost
unrecognizable.
All about him were the hoof-marks of the great sladang, the fiercest and wildest
animal of the peninsula—the Malayan bull that will charge a tiger, a black lion, a
boa, and even a crocodile, on sight. Hunters will go miles to avoid one of them,
and a herd of elephants will go trumpeting away in fear at their approach.
“Kuching besar (big cat) eat Baboo’s chow dog, then sleep in lallang grass,”—
this was the child’s story. “Baboo find, and say, ‘Bagus kuching (pretty kitty),
see Baboo’s doll?’ Kuching no like Baboo’s doll mem consul give. Kuching run
away. Baboo catch tail, run too. Kuching go long ways. Baboo ’fraid Aboo Din
whip and tell kuching must go back. Kuching pick Baboo up in mouth when
Baboo let go.