With the Dyaks of Borneo: A Tale of the Head Hunters

by F. S. Brereton

The seconds seemed to be minutes, so slowly did they pass, and though Tyler only permitted some three of the latter to elapse before making a move, almost half an hour seemed to have been occupied in watching the burly Dutchman. Indeed, now that he had come so close to success in the undertaking which he had set himself, the fear that, after all, he would be beaten, that Hanns Schlott would cut off his retreat and retain his prisoners, filled Tyler's mind with apprehension and anxiety, and those few minutes seemed almost a lifetime. And all the while the Dutchman stood as if rooted to the spot, still unable to make up his feeble mind as to what was happening, and hesitating to awake his followers at this early hour and bring them rushing forth on a fool's errand, which would cause them to grumble and laugh at their leader.

Suddenly, as he turned to the collection of huts behind him, his eye fell upon the figure of a swarthy Dyak, with sandalled feet, who was advancing towards him, and taking him for one of his own men he called eagerly to him.

"Come here and tell me what you see," he said in commanding tones. "My sight is not very certain in these early morning mists, and often plays me false. Say, are the prahus still at their moorings, and why is it that the vessel which we captured has her head turned to the sea?"

He was in the act of turning once more to the river, to direct the gaze of the native who had advanced towards him, when another doubt, something unusual about the man, seemed to strike him, and he swung round, to face Tyler with a start of surprise.

"Sandals!" he gasped. "Sopping waist-cloth, and—and colour which runs in streaks down the body and leaves white beneath!"

Like a flash he recognized who this native must be, and stood there staring at him as though the discovery stifled him, as though the boldness of the Englishman took his breath away. Then, quick as lightning, a thought, a horrible dread, came over him.

"Had the Englishman come to the stockade with others of his country? Was that the reason of the disappearance of some of the prahus? And had this man, this youth whom he had openly called a cub, but whom in his heart he feared not a little, and whose persistence had amazed him, had this Tyler Richardson tracked him to this spot, and by some uncanny means induced him, the leader of this gang of pirates, to emerge from his hut at that early hour in the morning and walk alone, like a helpless fly, into the web which had been woven to catch him?"

The thought sent the blood surging to his face, only to recede in an instant and leave him deadly pale. He gasped, threw back his head to take in a much-needed breath, and would have set the air ringing with a shriek of dismay had not Tyler suddenly stopped him. Instantly realizing that he had been recognized, and that his disguise was discovered, he threw himself upon the Dutchman like a hound, and, mindful of the advice which John Marshall had given him just before they had parted, dealt Hanns Schlott a terrific blow between the eyes.

"For you!" he shouted, throwing silence and caution to the winds in his excitement as he delivered the blow. "That to show you that a Dutchman cannot stop an Englishman!"

Had he been struck by a hammer Hanns Schlott could not have been more staggered, or thrown off his balance. Indeed, the suddenness and the unexpected nature of the attack, and the force with which the fist crashed upon his face, had combined to send him to the ground, and but for the fact that the edge of the stockade happened to be close at hand he would have gone upon his back in the clearing, just as he had on a former occasion fallen crash to the floor of the schooner's cabin before the fist of John Marshall. Instead, however, his bulky figure was driven heavily against the bamboos, and, recoiling from them with the force of the impact, he was thrown once more in the direction of his opponent. Nor did Tyler hesitate how to act. Drawing back a pace he leapt again at the leader of the pirates, sending both his fists beneath his chin. Ah! That was sufficient to stop Hanns Schlott, in spite of his great weight. As the doubled fingers struck him his chin shot into the air and his head was doubled back. Then, throwing his arms helplessly before him, he fell like a log, his back coming into violent contact with the ground.