During the night I heard the Argus pheasant crying in the woods, in response to distant thunder. These beautiful birds roam about the hill of Gading, which is close by the bungalow and thickly covered with virgin forest. The sound they make is uncanny and sorrowful, like the cry of lost souls wandering in the sombre wilderness of innumerable trees, seeking to fathom the secrets of an implacable world. Any sudden loud sound, as of a dead tree falling or the rumble of thunder, however remote, apparently calls forth an echo of terror from these birds. [Illustration: MALAY STRIKING FIRE FROM DRY TINDER] The next evening the chief of the village invited us to a reception at his house, situated a short distance from the bungalow. It was a fine starlight night, and we walked there after dinner. The house was built much in the same way as are other Sea Dyak houses, the flooring being propped on innumerable poles about thirty feet from the ground. A broad verandah led into the living-rooms, but, as usual, we had to climb a slender pole with notches all the way up, leaning at a steep angle against the verandah. The chief, with an air of pomp and majesty, helped me up the narrow way as though it were the stairway of a palace. His manner was courtly and his costume magnificent. His jacket and trousers were braided with gold, and the sarong round his waist was fastened with a belt of beaten gold. The house was full of people: Dyaks who had come from far and near, Chinamen resident in the place, Malays from over the Dutch border, and even a few Hindoos, or Klings, were to be seen. The chief took us to the place prepared for us at the end of the verandah, where was hung a canopy of golden embroideries and stiff brocades. Branches of sugar-canes and the fronds of betel-nut palms decorated the poles of the verandah. A great many lighted lamps hung from the roof, and the floor was covered with fine white mats. Bertram, Mr. Douglas, Dr. Langmore, and I sat on chairs, whilst the rest of the guests squatted on mats laid on the floor.