This Chief was a very heavily built man, with a bullet-shaped head, and
a square resolute jaw, partially cloaked by a short sparse beard of
coarse wiry hair. His voice and his laugh were both loud and boisterous,
and he usually affected an air of open, noisy good-fellowship, which was
but little in keeping with his character. When he saw Imam Bakar
approaching him, with the slow and solemn tread of one who believes
himself to be walking to his death, he cried out to him, while he was
yet some way off, with every appearance of friendship and cordiality:

'O Imam Bakar! What is the news? Come hither to me and fear nothing. I
come as thy friend, in peace and love. Come let us touch hands in
salutation as befits those who harbour no evil one to another.'

Imam Bakar was astonished at this reception. His heart bounded against
his ribs with relief at finding his worst fears so speedily dispelled,
and being, for the moment, off his guard, he placed his two hands
between those of To' Gajah in the usual manner of Malay formal
salutation. Quick as thought, To' Gajah seized him by the wrists, his
whole demeanour changing in a moment from that of the rough
good-fellowship of the boon companion, to excited and cruel ferocity.

'Stab! Stab! Stab! Ye sons of evil women!' he yelled to his men, and
before poor Imam Bakar could free himself from the powerful grasp which
held him, the spears were unearthed, and half a dozen of their blades
met in his shuddering flesh. It was soon over, and Imam Bakar lay dead
upon the sandbank, his body still quivering, while the peaceful morning
song of the birds came uninterrupted from the forest around.

Then Khatib Bujang and Imam Prang Samah were sent for, and as they came
trembling into the presence of To' Gajah, whose hands were still red
with the blood of their friend and kinsman, they squatted humbly on the
sand at his feet.

'Behold a sample of what ye also may soon be,' said To' Gajah, spurning
the dead body of Imam Bakar as he spoke. 'Mark it well, and then tell me
who is your Master and who your Chief!'

Khatib Bujang and Imam Prang Samah stuttered and stammered, but not
because they hesitated about the answer, but rather through over
eagerness to speak, and a deadly fear which held them dumb. At last,
however, they found words and cried together:

'The Bendahara is our Master, and our Chief is whomsoever thou mayest be
pleased to appoint.'

Thus they saved their lives, and are stil