"Don't expose yourself, Mr. Gross," Carver cried anxiously. Peter Gross stepped into the shelter of a cocoanut-palm and shouted the Malay for "Ahoy."
A Chinaman appeared at the bow. His dress and trappings showed that he was a juragan.
"Lower a boat and come ashore. But leave your guns behind," Peter Gross ordered.
The juragan cried that there was no boat aboard. Peter Gross conferred with Jahi who had hastened toward them to find out what the conference meant. When the resident told him that there was to be no more killing, his disappointment was evident.
"They have killed my people without mercy," he objected. "They will cut my brother's throat to-morrow and hang his skull in their lodges."
It was necessary to use diplomacy to avoid mortally offending his ally, the resident saw.
"It was not the white man's way to kill when the fight is over," he said. "Moreover, we will hold them as hostages for our son, whom Djath has blessed."
Jahi nodded dubiously. "My brother's word is good," he said. "There is a creek near by. Maybe my boys find him sampan."
"Go, my brother," Peter Gross directed. "Come back as soon as possible."
Jahi vanished into the bush. A half-hour later Peter Gross made out a small sampan, paddled by two Dyaks, approaching from the south. That the Dyaks were none too confident was apparent from the anxious glances that they shot at the proa, which was already beginning to show signs of breaking up.