It was a Javanese girl, whom neither Grenits nor his friend recognised. With dishevelled hair and stained with blood, she rolled on the grass as she covered her face with both hands.
“Help, toean, help,” she moaned.
Astounded by the strange and unexpected apparition, the two hunters stood looking at the poor girl before them. In their amazement they knew not what to do. Grenits, however, who could not bear to see a human being thus grovelling at his feet, took hold of the girl’s arm and tried to raise her from the ground; but she shook off his hand.
“I am ashamed,” she muttered, as she tried to cast the thick masses of hair over her bosom.
Just then a man, a Javanese, came darting out of the hut, and seeing the poor girl he ran up to her at once. With a rough grasp he laid hold of her arm, and strove to pull her up.
“Ah!” she exclaimed; then, as she recognised the fellow, she tore herself away from him with a look of the utmost terror.
“Help, toean, toean, help!” she begged, turning again to the two European gentlemen.
“Let go that woman’s arm!” shouted Grenits, boiling with rage.
“What have you got to do with her?” asked Grashuis, who now recognised Singomengolo.
“She has been smuggling opium,” replied Singo, and turning to the girl he hissed in a threatening tone, “Come along, will you, or else—”