Nor was the plain all level. Here and there, above the wooded surface, rose isolated hills, of rounded mound-like shape, also clothed with timber, but with trees whose foliage, of lighter sheen, showed them to be of species different from those on the plain below.
Through a break among the branches of those now shadowing them on the mountain brow, the travellers for some time contemplated the country before them, and across which, upon the morrow, they would have to make their way.
At this moment Saloo muttered some words, which, coupled with the expression upon his countenance as he gave utterance to them, alarmed his companions. The words were,—
“It lookee like countly of mias lombi. Cappen Ledwad, if dat wild debbel lib in dem wood below, bettel we go all lound. We tly closs it, may be we get eat up. Singapo tiga not so dang’lous as mias—he not common kind, but gleat mias lombi—what Poltugee people callee ‘led golilla.’”
“The red gorilla!” ejaculated Captain Redwood. “Is it the ourang-outang you mean?”
“Same ting, Sahib cappen. Some call him oolang-ootang, some say led golilla. One kind belly big—belly bad—he call mias lombi. He cally away women, childen; take ’em up into top ob de highest tallee tlee. Nobody know what he do then. Eat ’em up may be. What fol else he want ’em? Ah! Cappen Ledwad, we dlead de oolang-Dyak. He no half dang’lous like oolang-ootang led golilla.”
Notwithstanding the patois of his speech, what Saloo said was well enough understood by his companions, for in the led golilla or oolang-ootang of his peculiar pronunciation, they recognised the long known and world-renowned ape of Borneo, which, although safe enough when seen inside the cage of the showman, is a creature to be dreaded—at least the species spoken of—when encountered in its native haunts, the forests of Sumatra and Borneo.