The sun was rising directly behind the peak, a ball of liquid fire. I drew in a long
draught of the warm morning air.
A Malay in a soft silken sarong, which fell about his legs like a woman’s skirt,
stood in the door.
“The Prince is awaiting the Tuan Consul,” he said, with a graceful salaam.
I hurriedly donned my suit of white, drank my tea, and followed him along the
grand salon, down a broad flight of steps, through a marble court, and into the
dining room.
A great white punkah was lazily vibrating over the heavy rosewood table.
Unko Sulliman, the Prince Governor of Maur, came forward and gave me his
hand.
“It will be a hard climb and a hard day’s work?” he said, pleasantly, in good
English.
“I have done worse,” I answered.
“But not under a Malayan sky. However, it is your wish, and his Highness the
Sultan has granted it. The Chief Justice will accompany you, and now you had
better start before the sun is high.”
I turned to the Tuan Hakim, or Chief Justice, with a gesture of unconcealed
pleasure. We had shot crocodiles the day previous along the banks of the Maur,
and I had found him a good shot and an agreeable companion. While not as
handsome a man or as striking a representative of his race as the Unko, or
Prince, he was a scholar, and could aid me more than any one else in my
exploration of the ancient gold workings about the base of the famous mountain.
The launch was awaiting us at the pier in front of the Residency, and we took
our places in the bow, and arranged our guns as our half-naked crew worked her
slowly into mid-stream. We hoped to get some snap shots at the crocodiles that
lined the banks as we steamed swiftly up the river.
“I am inclined to agree with Josephus, that yonder mountain is the Mount Ophir