The smell of warm blood filled the air, and a low snarl among the rubber-vines
revealed the presence of a tiger.
I felt Aboo Din’s hand tremble on my shoulder.
The five Sikhs were drawn up in battle array before the cabin door, waiting for
the word of command. I glanced at them and hesitated.
“Tid ’apa, Tuan” (never mind), Aboo Din whispered with a proud ring in his
voice.
“Baboo blow Orang Kayah’s men away with the breath of his mouth.”
As he spoke the branches above the bow were thrust aside and a dark form hung
for an instant as though in doubt, then shot straight down upon the corrugated
surface of the deck.
As before, a shriek of agony heralded the descent, followed by Baboo’s laugh,
then the dim shape sprang wildly upon the bulwark, lost its hold, and went over
with a great splash among the labyrinth of snakelike mangrove roots.
There was the rushing of many heavy forms through the red mud, a snapping of
great jaws, and there was no mistaking the almost mortal cry that arose from out
the darkness. I had often heard it when paddling softly up one of the wild
Malayan rivers.
It was the death cry of a wah-wah monkey facing the cruel jaws of a crocodile.
I plunged my fingers into my ears to smother the sound. I understood it all now.
Baboo’s pirates, the dreaded Orang Kayah’s rebels, were the troop of monkeys
we had heard the night before in the tambusa trees.
“Baboo,” I shouted, “come here! What does this all mean?”
The Tiger-Child glided from behind the protecting pile, and came close up to my
legs.
“Tuan,” he whimpered, “Baboo see many faces behind trees. Baboo ’fraid for
Tuan,—Tuan great and good,—save Baboo from tiger,—Baboo break up all