), 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 inquiry, I discovered what the ancient chief really intended. His
suggestion was that the blood-money should take the form of seven human
beings, who were to be duly delivered to the relations of the murdered
man as slaves. These seven creatures were not to be members of his or
Ku-ish's tribe, but were to be captured by them from among the really
wild people of the hills, who had had no share in the ill-doing which it
was my object to punish. The Porcupine and his brethren, he explained,
would run some risk, and be put to a considerable amount of trouble,
before the seven wild men could be caught, and this was to be the
measure of their punishment. The old Chief went on to tell me that the
wild Sakai only pursued a raiding party until they came to a spot where
a spear had been left sticking upright in the ground. This custom, he
said, was well known to the marauders, who took care to avail themselves
of it, so soon as their captives had been secured. My informant said
that the wild men would never venture past a spear left in this manner,
but he was unable to explain the reason, and did not profess to
understand the superstition with which this spear is probably connected
in the minds of the jungle dwellers.

Blood-money in past times, I was assured both by Malays and Sakai, had
always been paid in this manner by the semi-wild tribes of the interior.
It was the custom, and Kria's relatives were eager in their prayers to
me to accept the proposal. Instead, I exacted a heavy fine of jungle
produce from the tribe to which Ku-ish, the Porcupine, belonged, and
thus I gave complete dissatisfaction to all parties concerned. The Sakai
disliked the decision because they found the fine more difficult to pay,
while the Malays thought the blood-money paid hopelessly inadequate,
when compared with the value of seven slaves. But, as the Indian Proverb
says, 'an order is an order until one is strong enough to disobey it.'
Therefore the fine was paid by the Sakai and accepted by the Malays with
grumblings, of which I only heard the echoes.

So ends the story of the Flight of Chep, the Bird, and of the deed
whereby Ku-ish, the Porcupine, cleansed his honour from the shame that
had been put upon him. The murder was a brutal act, savagely done, and
the ruthless manner in which the