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

by F. S. Brereton

Once more the party of natives and Englishmen took up the trail, and a mile farther on were rewarded by the sound of a rifle-shot which suddenly rang out in the jungle. Instantly they redoubled their pace, and did not halt till the leading Malay again threw his arms into the air and motioned to them to do so. A moment or two later their eyes fell upon the figure of Hanns Schlott. But what a change! Once a burly individual, with enormous, unwieldy limbs and rounded cheeks, he was now a haggard man. True, the time had been too short to allow of much change in his weight or in his general appearance; but it was the Dutchman's face and eyes which attracted attention, while the droop of his head, the stoop of his broad shoulders, added to the change which could be observed. No longer was he the leader of a band of pirates whose ill fame had spread far and wide, and who committed any sort of atrocity with impunity. He was a criminal escaping from the law, and every shadow, each tree and bush, contained one of the pursuers. That young Englishman who had been aboard the schooner when the murder of Mr. Beverley was carried out was forever in his memory, and each object which his imagination conjured into human shape was Tyler's figure. Our hero's name was forever on his lips, and each shot from his smoking rifle was meant to pierce his body.

"That killed him! I saw the bullet strike on his body and perforate," the Dutchman was shouting as Tyler and his friends came up with the fugitive.

"Ha, ha, ha! At last I have paid off the score. He said he would follow me and hang me, and instead I drove him ashore. Then he went to Paddi and robbed us of our prahus. For that my shot has paid. And now to give him what is due, to return in full the trouble which he has caused me. I will go within an inch of him, and will place the muzzle against his ear. Then I shall be free."

As he spoke Hanns Schlott glared at one portion of the jungle, with eyes which seemed to protrude from their sockets and to be capable of seeing nothing else. Then he grasped his rifle with feverish hands, and in spite of the fact that it was still hot rammed a charge in. Then another thought came to his tortured mind, and he clutched his head in despair.

"Beaten!" he shouted in high-pitched tones. "Even then I am not sure of my life, for there is another. The beggarly sailor, John Marshall they called him, knew of the deed. He saw it, and swore, too, that he would follow me to the end of the world. Of what use to struggle further?"

He paused in the process of ramming down a charge, and attempted to consider the question. But his wits had gone astray, and, unable to grasp the matter, his mind again turned to Tyler.

"What!" he screamed, suddenly facing about, and pointing at another part of the jungle. "He is still alive and laughs at me. Ha!"

His face was like a demon's as, gun in hand, he crept stealthily towards the spot in which he fancied his victim was hidden. The lips twitched and were withdrawn from the teeth. The pallid cheeks hung loosely and quivered, while the eyes blazed with the intensity of the madness which filled him. Falling upon his hands and knees, he crawled softly across the leaves and twigs as if anxious not to disturb his enemy. Then once more the rifle came to his shoulder. There was a pause ere the trigger was pressed, and then another report startled the jungle. Ere the echoes had died down the madman had sprung forward and hurled himself upon a twisted tree which he had imagined to be his victim.

It was a terrible sight to look upon, and filled Tyler and his little party with horror; for never before had it been their lot to watch the ravings of a madman bereft of his senses through fear of the consequences of his crime. It was horrible to watch, and our hero at once decided to put a stop to it.