"Tûan," he replied, "there are traces."
"But why haven't your men been digging pits and capturing it?"
He made some reply to the effect that his men were busy planting rice, and I let the matter drop, for I saw that he was unwilling to talk. After the headman had left the house, I questioned Ali. While waiting for me, Ali had drawn the headman out on the subject. It seemed that the natives of the headman's kampong were reluctant to go out hunting the rhinoceros because they had seen the tracks, not only of the beast they were after, but also of beasts they wanted to avoid—a pair of seladangs.
I could understand, then, why they were not anxious to go out rhinoceros hunting, armed with nothing but their knives and muzzle-loading guns; for the seladang is, to my mind, the most dangerous animal on earth. It is the largest and fiercest of all wild cattle; its sense of smell and its vision are keen, and it charges with terrific speed. Except for one baby seladang that died before it reached a menagerie, not one has ever been captured alive. A number have been killed and mounted and are to be found in museums.
In meeting seladangs a hunter needs all his skill and courage. They charge without an instant's warning, breaking through the jungle at incredible speed. Unlike most animals, they do not try to protect themselves by defensive methods, holding the charge until they are cornered; they are instantly on the defensive. The hunter becomes just as much hunted as his quarry; each tries to attack by surprise. It is vitally important in running down seladangs for the hunter to keep his feet clear of vines and creepers, so that he can be free to jump; and also to keep his eye on a tree, which will provide refuge in case he needs it. The only possible way for a hunter to escape the direct charge of a seladang is to fall flat and let it run over him; its neck is so short that, when he is prostrate, it cannot reach him with its horns. Then, if the hoofs have not knocked him unconscious or broken his bones, he can jump up, before the seladang can check itself, and run for a tree. For the man once caught on the beast's horns, there is no escape; it tosses a victim time after time and then tramples him.
I had never met a seladang—and I must admit that I was not especially anxious to meet one—but I had no doubt of my ability to handle it if the emergency arose, and so I determined to go to Rawang for the rhinoceros. I had confidence in my express rifle and I knew that the natives would not refuse to accompany me. It would be useless to force them, of course, for they would be constantly on the verge of a panic. I sent Ali to talk with the headman and bring him to my house.
That afternoon a large part of the village across the river from my house burned to the ground. While I was sitting on my veranda, waiting for Ali to return with the headman, I saw smoke arising from one of the houses in the Chinese section. A moment later, flames appeared, the alarm was given and the village was in an uproar. The flames leaped from house to house, running down the principal street, where all the godowns were located. I went across the river to watch the excitement and see what I could do to help. The natives were wild: rushing about, falling over one another and going crazy. I stood at one side, quite out of the way, for a native in such a condition is a dangerous person; the least word may send him amok and start him slashing with his kris. Not one native thought about the safety of his women and children. On the contrary, he pushed women and children out of the way and walked on them in the excitement of rescuing the one possession that a Malay values—his kris. Men dashed into burning houses and emerged triumphantly, scorched but waving their krises over their heads.
One of the tunkus managed to organize in the midst of the turmoil, what passed as a water-chain. The natives grabbed buckets and ran to the river, returning at full speed, waving their buckets and getting in one another's way. I doubt if a single bucket reached the fire with more than a cupful of water in it. It was so funny that I had to hide where no one could see me laughing. I heard later that the old Sultan laughed until he was weak.
He feared only that the wind might change and bring the fire on his palace; and he sent Mahommed Yusuf to find me and ask my advice. Yusuf and I decided that, if the wind showed any signs of changing, it would be best to tear down some of the village, to make a protecting strip. I went back across the river to my house for dynamite to aid in the work of demolition. However, the wind did not change, and, in exactly a hundred minutes after I saw the first smoke, the fire had run its course.
In that time, a hundred and twenty-five houses had burned to the ground, but no lives had been lost. And so it was not a serious calamity, since house-building in that section of the country is a simple matter. The Malays thought it a great joke that the stores that were destroyed belonged to the Chinese; for the Chinese were always cheating them. By the time evening came, it was as if the fire had been arranged to give the population an exciting and amusing holiday.