“Sure?” cried Ali. “They are the scum of the east.”
“Then we’ll skim them a little more,” said Tom Long. “Hi! sergeant, let me have a rifle and some cartridges; I think I should like to pot a few cut-throat pirates myself.”
Sergeant Lund handed him the required rifle, Captain Smithers coming up at the moment, and as he swept the surroundings of the little fort with his glass his countenance changed a little, for grave as had been their position before, he felt now that unless help quickly came it was absolutely hopeless.
Chapter Fifty Five.
How the Hunting-Party fared.
There was a thick mist hanging over the forest when the bugle rang out the reveille, and, some eagerly, some thinking rest the better thing, all the hunting-party began to gather outside their tents, where the best apologies for tubs and baths were provided for the officers.
No sooner, however, did the Malays see this than they laughingly led the way to a little river, evidently a tributary of the Parang, and setting the example plunged into its deep, clear, cool waters, showing themselves to be adepts at swimming, and laughing to scorn the idea of there being any crocodiles there.
The water was deliciously cool, and one and all the officers gladly availed themselves of the jungle bath, emerging fresh, and their nerves toned up ready for any work that was to fall to their lot that day.