answering for his fellows, 'we follow thee whithersoever thou goest.'

'It is well!' said the Penghulu. 'Come let us go.' No more was said,
when this whispered colloquy was ended, and the party set down to the
trail again silently and with redoubled caution.

The narrow track, which the wounded tiger had followed, led on towards
the river bank, and presently the high wattled bamboo fence of a
native compound became visible through the trees. Penghulu Mat Saleh
pointed at it. 'Behold!' was all he said. Then the party moved on
again, still following the tracks of the tiger, and the flecks of red
blood on the grass. These led them to the gate of the compound, and
through it to the _'laman_ or open space before the house. Here they
were lost at a spot where the rank spear-blades of the _lalang_ grass
had been beaten down by the falling of some heavy body. A veritable
pool of blood marked the place. To it the trail of the limping tiger
led. Away from it there was no tracks, save those of the human beings
who come and go through the rank growths which cloak the earth in a
Malay compound. 'Behold!' said Penghulu Mat Saleh once more. 'Come,
let us ascend into the house.' And so saying he led the way up the
stair-ladder of the dwelling where Haji Ali lived with his two sons
Abas and Abdulrahman, and whence a month or two before Patimah had
fled during the night-time with a deadly fear in her eyes, and the
tale of a strange experience faltering on her lips.

Penghulu Mat Saleh and his people found Abas sitting cross-legged in the
outer apartment preparing a quid of betel-nut with elaborate care. The
visitors squatted on the mats, and the usual customary salutations over,
Penghulu Mat Saleh said:

'I have come in order that I may see thy father. Is he within the
house?'

'He is,' said Abas laconically.

'Then make known to him that I would have speech with him.'

'My father is sick,' said Abas in a surly tone, and at the word a tremor
of excitement ran through Penghulu Mat Saleh's followers.

'What is that patch of blood in the _lalang_ before the house?' asked
the Penghulu conversationally, after a short pause.

'We slew a goat yesternight,' replied Abas.

'Hast thou the skin, O Abas?' asked the Penghulu, 'for I am renewing the
faces of my drums, and would fain purchase it.'

'The skin was mangy, and we cast it into the river,' said Abas.

'What ails thy father, Abas?' asked the Penghulu returning to the
charge.