The Argus Pheasant

"It is the hill Dyaks who begin it, mynheer. Sometimes my coast Dyaks lose their heads when their crops are burned and their wives and children are stolen, but that is not often. We can control them better than we can the hill people, for they are nearer us. Of course a man runs amuck occasionally, but that you find everywhere."

"I hear there is a half-white woman who wields a great influence over them," Peter Gross remarked. "Who is she?"

"You mean Koyala, mynheer. A wonderful woman with a great influence over her people; they would follow her to death. That was a wise act, mynheer, to persuade his excellency to cancel the offer he made for her person. Bulungan will not forget it. You could not have done anything that pleases the people more."

"She is very beautiful, I have heard," Peter Gross remarked pensively.

Muller glanced at him sharply, and a quick spasm of jealousy contracted his features. The resident might like a pretty face, too, was his instant thought; it was an angle he had not bargained for. This Mynheer Gross was strong and handsome, young – altogether a dangerous rival. His mellow good nature vanished.

"That depends on what you call beauty," he said surlily. "She is a witch-woman, and half Dyak."

Peter Gross looked up in pretended surprise.

"Well, mynheer, I am astonished. They told me in Batavia – " He checked himself abruptly.

"What did they tell you in Batavia?" Muller demanded eagerly.

Peter Gross shook his head. "I should not have spoken, mynheer. It was only idle gossip."

"Tell me, mynheer," Muller pleaded. "Lieve hemel, this is the first time in months that some one has told me that Batavia still remembers Muller of Bulungan."

"It was only idle rumor," Peter Gross deprecated. "I was told you were going to marry – naturally I believed – but of course as you say it's impossible – "

"I to marry?" Muller exclaimed. "Who? Koyala?"

Peter Gross's silence was all the confirmation the controlleur needed. A gratified smile spread over his face; he was satisfied now that the resident had no intention of being his rival.

"They say that in Batavia?" he asked. "Well, between you and me, mynheer, I would have to look far for a fairer bride."

"Let me congratulate you," Peter Gross began, but Muller stayed him.

"No, not yet, mynheer. What I have said is for your ears alone. Remember, you know nothing."

"Your confidence is safe with me," Peter Gross assured him.

Muller suddenly recollected his duties as host.

"Ho, mynheer, you must have some Hollands with me," he cried hospitably. "A toast to our good fellowship." He clapped his hands and Cho Seng appeared in the doorway.

"A glass of lemonade or iced tea, if you please," Peter Gross stated.

"You are a teetotaler?" Muller cried in dismay.

"As resident of Bulungan, yes, mynheer. A servant of the state cannot be too careful."

Muller laughed. "Lemonade and jenever, Cho Seng," he directed. "Well, mynheer, I'll wager you are the only resident in all the colonies that will not take his glass of Hollands. If it were not for jenever many of us could not live in this inferno. Sometimes it is well to be able to forget for a short time."

"If one has a burdened conscience," Peter Gross conditioned quietly.

Muller started. He intuitively felt the words were not idle observation, and he glanced at Peter Gross doubtfully. The resident was looking over the broad expanse of sea, and presently remarked:

"You have a splendid view here, mynheer. I hope the outlook from my house is half so good."

Muller roused himself. "That is so, mynheer," he said. "I had almost forgotten; we will have to put your house in order at once. It has not been occupied for two years, and will need a thorough cleaning. Meanwhile you must be my guest."

"I thank you, mynheer," Peter Gross replied quietly.

"You will have an establishment, mynheer?" Muller asked curiously. "Have you brought servants? If not, I shall be glad to loan you Cho Seng."

"Thank you, I am well provided," Peter Gross assured.

Cho Seng padded out on the porch and served them. Being a well-trained servant, he scarcely glanced at his employer's guest, but Peter Gross favored him with a thoughtful stare.

"Your servant has been with you a long time, mynheer?" he inquired carelessly.

"A year, mynheer. I got him from Batavia. He was recommended by – a friend." The pause was perceptible.

"His face seems familiar," Peter Gross remarked in an offhand manner. "But that's probably imagination. It is hard to tell these Chinese apart."

Conscious of having said too much again, Muller made no reply. They sipped their drinks in silence, Peter Gross thinking deeply the while why Ah Sing should make a former waiter in his rumah makan Muller's servant. Presently he said:

"If it is not too much trouble, mynheer, could you show me my house?"

"Gladly, mynheer," Muller exclaimed, rising with alacrity. "It is only a few steps. We will go at once."

For the next half hour Peter Gross and he rambled through the dwelling. It was modeled closely after the controlleur's own, with a similar green and white façade facing the sea. The atmosphere within was damp and musty, vermin scurried at their approach, but Peter Gross saw that the building could be made tenable in a few days. At last they came to a sequestered room on the north side, facing the hills. An almost level expanse of garden lay back of it.

"This was Mynheer de Jonge's own apartment," Muller explained. "Here he did most of his work." He sighed heavily. "He was a fine old man. It is too bad the good God had to take him away from us."

Peter Gross's lips pressed together tightly.

"Mynheer de Jonge was careless of his health, I hear," he remarked. "One cannot be too careful in Bulungan. Therefore, mynheer, I must ask you to get me a crew of men busy at once erecting two long houses, after these plans." He took a drawing from his pocket and showed it to Muller. The controlleur blinked at it with a puzzled frown.

"These buildings will ruin the view, mynheer," he expostulated. "Such long huts – they are big enough for thirty men. What are they for?"

"Protection against the fevers, mynheer," Peter Gross said dryly. "The fevers that killed Mynheer de Jonge."

That evening, when Peter Gross had returned to the ship, Muller and Van Slyck met to compare notes. The captain was still boiling with anger; the resident's visit to Fort Wilhelmina had not soothed his ruffled temper.

"He told me he brought twenty-five irregulars with him for work in the bush," Van Slyck related. "They are a separate command, and won't be quartered in the fort. If this Yankee thinks he can meddle in the military affairs of the residency he will find he is greatly mistaken."

"Where will they be quartered?" Muller asked.

"I don't know."

"Maybe he will place them in the huts he has ordered me to build back of the residency," Muller remarked, rubbing his bald pate thoughtfully.

"He told you to build some huts?" Van Slyck asked.