"Yes," said the Malay, sadly. "His father, the Tumongong, prayed upon his knees that the brave boy's life might be spared, and offered to send him out of the country. But the sultan laughed, and said that the young chief would come back again with a swarm of English soldiers, and seize the jewels, and put him to death, and make himself sultan. Then the Tumongong swore an oath that Ali should never come back, and went down on his face before Sultan Hamet; but the sultan drew his kris and pricked him with it in the shoulder, and told him that he should die if he named his son again." "The villain! That brave, noble young fellow, too!" said the doctor, excitedly. "Yes; he was so brave and handsome," cried the Malay. "I loved him, but I was obliged to hide it all, for if I had spoken one word they would have krissed me, and thrown me into the river. So I had to be silent; but when they wanted some one to go with you I offered, and they said `Yes' because I could speak English, and the sultan gave me my orders." "And what were they?" said the doctor, sharply. "To wait till to-night, and then lead you out of the jungle if you did not want to go, and stab you with my kris." "And you did not do it?" The Malay smiled, and drew his kris in its sheath from out of the folds of his sarong, handing it to the doctor. "I am not a murderer," he said. "But suppose the sultan had asked you why you did not kill me," said the doctor, "what then?" "I should have told him a lie. He is a liar, and full of deceit. We do not think it wrong to deal with such a man in the coins he gives. I should have said you kept me back with your gun." "Take your kris, my lad," said the doctor, quietly. "I trust you. Now lead me back to the camp." "No, no," cried the Malay. "I dare not. I cannot take you back to death." "I--must--go," said the doctor, sternly; and the Malay made a deprecating gesture, indicative of his obedience. "My people may have proved too strong for Sultan Hamet and his treacherous gang." "Yes--yes--they may," cried the Malay, eagerly. "They may have given him such a lesson as he will never forget." "I hope they will make him forget for ever," said the Malay in a sombre tone. "He is not fit to live. My kris is thirsty to drink his blood." "Forward, then!" cried the doctor, "and tell me when you feel sick. Find water if you can, first thing. Does your wound pain you?" "It feels as if the tiger kept biting me," was the reply; "but I do not mind. Shall we go back?" "Yes; and at once," cried the doctor, and, following his companion, they rapidly retraced their steps through the dark jungle, the guide, as if by instinct, making his way onward without a moment's hesitation, seeming to take short cuts whenever the forest was sufficiently open to let them pass.