The Malay waited patiently. One by one the remaining native fires on the shore went out; and, presently, a chill gust of air swept down from the mountains, and looking shoreward he saw that the sky to the eastward was quickly darkening and hiding the stars—a heavy downpour of rain was near.
He drew his kriss from its tortoiseshell sheath and felt the edge, made a gesture to the crouching tigers for'ard, and then stepped lightly along the deck to the open cabin door; the other four crept after him, then stopped and waited—for less than a minute.
A faint, choking cry came from the cabin, and then Selak came out, his kriss streaming with blood.
“It is done,” he whispered, and pointing to the poop he sprang up.
“Hi, there! what's the matter?” cried Totten, who had heard the feint cry; and then, too late, he drew his pistol from his belt and fired—as Selak's kriss plunged into his chest. Poor Harris was slaughtered ere he had opened his eyes.
Spurning Totten's body with his naked foot, Selak cursed it. “Accursed Christian dog! Would I could bring thee to life so that I might kill thee again!” Then, as he heard the rushing hum of the coming rain squall, and saw that the shore was hidden from view, as if a solid wall of white stone had suddenly arisen between it and the ship, he grinned.
“Bah! what does it matter? Had it been a cannon instead of a pistol it could scarce have been heard on the shore in such a din.”
Ordering the bodies of the two seamen to be thrown overboard, Selak, the most courageous, entered the cabin, took a couple of muskets from the rack, and some powder and ball from the mate's berth, and returning to his followers, bade them bring the boat alongside.
“Throw the woman after them,” he cried to Nakoda, as the boat pushed off into the darkness, just as the hissing rain began. “We shall return ere it is dawn.”
Nakoda would have sprung over the side after the boat, but he feared the sharks even more than Selak's kriss; so running for'ard, he crept into his bunk and lay there, too terrified to move.