l living, while To' Gajah lies
buried in an exile's grave; but many will agree in thinking that such a
death as Imam Bakar's is a better thing for a man to win, than empty
years such as his companions have survived to pass in scorn and in
dishonour.

But while these things were being done at Pekan and at Pasir Tambang,
Wan Lingga, who, as I have related, had remained behind in the upper
country when To' Raja was carried to Pekan, was sparing no pains to
seduce the faithful natives of the interior from their loyalty to their
hereditary Chief. In all his efforts, however, he was uniformly
unsuccessful, for, though he had got rid of To' Raja, there remained in
the Lipis Valley the aged Chief of the District, the Dato' Kaya
Stia-wangsa, whom the people both loved and feared. He had been a great
warrior in the days of his youth, and a series of lucky chances and
hair-breadth escapes had won for him an almost fabulous reputation, such
as among a superstitious people easily attaches itself to any striking
and successful personality. It was reported that he bore a charmed life,
that he was invulnerable alike to lead bullets and to steel blades, and
even the silver slugs which his enemies had fashioned for him had
hitherto failed to find their billet in his body. From the first this
man had thrown in his lot with his kinsman To' Raja, and, unlike him, he
had declined to allow himself to be persuaded to visit the capital when
the war came to an end. Thus he continues to live at the curious little
village of Penjum, on the Lipis river, and, so long as he was present in
person to exert his influence upon the people, Wan Lingga found it
impossible to make any headway against him.

These things were reported by Wan Lingga to To' Gajah, and by the latter
to the Bendahara. The result was an order to Wan Lingga, charging him to
attack To' Kaya Stia-wangsa by night, and to slay him and all his house.
With To' Kaya dead and buried, and To' Raja a State prisoner at the
capital, the game which To' Gajah and Wan Lingga had been playing would
at least be won. The Lipis would fall to the former, and the Jelai to
the latter as their spoils of war; and the people of these Districts,
being left 'like little chicks without the mother hen,' would acquiesce
in the arrangement, following their new Chiefs as captives of their bows
and spears.

Thus all looked well for the future when Wan Lingga set out, just before
sun-down, from his house at Atok