The dying man’s lips moved. The Prince bent lower.
“She—loved—you. Yes—” Noa muttered, striving to hold his failing breath,—“love is from—Allah. But not for—me;—for English—and—Princes.”
They threw his body without the circle of the fires.
The tense feline growl of the tiger grew more distinct. The Prince’s hand sought the jewelled handle of his kris. There was a swift rush in the darkness, a crashing among the rubber-vines, a short, quick snarl, and then all was still.
If you run amok in Malaya, you may kill your enemy or your dearest friend, but you will be krissed in the end like a pariah dog. Every man, woman, and child will turn his hand against you, from the mother who bore you to the outcast you have befriended.
The laws are as immutable as fate.
Lepas’s Revenge
The Tale of a Monkey
There were many monkeys—I came near saying there were hundreds—in the little clump of jungle trees back of the bungalow. We could lie in our long chairs, any afternoon, when the sun was on the opposite side of the house, and watch them from behind the bamboo “chicks” swinging and playing in the maze of rubber-vines.