“Me no know 'bout man or two,” said Salloo, “but him big an’mul. Live in river. Makee noise like heap cryee allee timee.”
“It sounds as if somebody was being murdered,” commented Raynor. “However, I guess we’re not the first people to be scared by the dinner-gong, or whatever you call it.”
The halt for the noon-day meal was made in a pleasant grove of tropical trees which stood on safe rising ground to one side of the trail. All the white members of the party were glad enough of the chance to take a rest, but the wiry natives appeared to be perfectly fresh and strong as when they set out, despite their heavy burdens. While the natives began cooking their rice and salted fish, with a sort of curry sauce, Salloo set about making a fire for the whites. With marvelous dexterity he twirled a stick between his outspread hands against some dry tinder and soon had a good blaze going. The boys scattered to get wood, of which they soon had a sufficient quantity. Then, determined to make the most of their halt, they flung themselves down under a peculiarly fine tree with wide, dark green leaves, glossy as polished leather.
They were chatting about the incidents of the trip so far when Jack all at once felt something strike him on the arm. His first impression was that it was a stone. But on looking at the place where he had been struck he saw that the sleeve of his shirt, for he had laid aside his khaki coat, had been ripped in parallel lines as if a curry comb, with sharp teeth, had been drawn down it. He felt a sharp pain moreover, and then he saw blood on his arm.
Billy had sprung up in alarm at his sharp exclamation of pain, and was peering into the brush in the dread of seeing savage faces peering at them. His shout of alarm brought them all, including Salloo, on the run to Jack’s side. The boy explained what had occurred and the faces of the whites grew grave. If they were attacked at this early stage of the journey it augured ill for the remainder of their adventure.
But Salloo speedily solved the mystery. Lying on the ground beside Jack was a green, oval-shaped ball, about the size of those projectiles that one sees stacked by memorial cannons in our country. But this missile was covered with sharp spikes like the spines of a hedgehog. Salloo pointed up into the beautiful tree under which they had cast themselves down to rest.
“Nobody throw him,” he explained, “him big fruit, some callum Durion nut. You comee way from there. One hittee you headee your blains getee knocked out.”
“They deserve to be for getting up a scare like that,” laughed Jack, who, like Billy, stepped hastily from under the dangerous tree. “It seems to be a pretty good idea in this country to be always on the look out. Even nature seems to have it in for you.”
Jack’s arm was doctored by Captain Sparhawk, for it was quite painful, but luckily the spines of the durion, sometimes called the Jack fruit, are not poisonous and it was soon all right again. But during the noon-day meal, which was then ready, when they heard the crashing of nut after nut from the durion tree, both boys felt they had had a very lucky escape from having their skulls fractured.
“Be jabers,” commented Muldoon, “shure o’ive been in a hurricane where the blocks and tackle that was ripped from aloft made yez skip around loively to dodge thim, but this is the first toime thot iver I heard of a three throwing things at yez as if ye was a nigger dodger at a fair.”