The moon was shining brilliantly, considerably lessening the difficulties of marching through a tropical forest by night. The path, however, was so narrow that only one man could pass at a time, so that they were compelled to travel in Indian file. Fallen trees were lying about everywhere. In many places they had to cut a way through the thorny creepers, a work which, besides damaging their clothes, occasioned them many disagreeable pricks. About midnight, when they were marching along a grassy lawn dotted with large umbrageous trees, one of the Poenans warned them to keep silent. Through the midnight calm he had heard at no great distance some suspicious sounds which he believed to be human voices. Harimaoung Boekit softly whispered a few words to his companions, then he and six of his warriors threw themselves on the grass and cautiously crept along the ground. The rest of the travelers remained perfectly still for a quarter of an hour in an excited state of expectation. Of a sudden some cries of terror, rage and despair were heard which were succeeded by utter silence. Then the Poenans reappeared, two of them carrying human heads and the four others dragging behind them two gagged prisoners. These men at first refused to answer any questions. Johannes then gave them to understand that he would employ means to compel them to speak. One of them hurled some offensive epithets at his captors and in return received between his eyes a blow which set him spinning and almost stunned him. They then became more docile and bit by bit revealed that they belonged to a marauding band and knew nothing of the proceedings of their compatriots in that neighborhood. They had, however, been informed that many of their people had perished in an explosion at the Oepon Batoe and that all the inhabitants of the kotta had been killed at the same time. The Doessonese they had heard had secured many heads and had also captured a whiteface. Our friends listened breathlessly to this last item of intelligence, though it caused Harimaoung Boekit to stare with astonishment. Johannes then calmly enquired how this whiteface could have come here in these remote regions. “Djaton tau,” I don’t know, was the reply; “but we have seen him. He was lying in a rangkan, tied hands and feet. His jacket had been torn off. His face and hands were brown like ours, but his chest and back were white. He had dyed his skin with katiting.” “And what have they done with him?” inquired Wienersdorf, hesitatingly, as if afraid to put the question, “Have they killed him?” “No: many pleaded to have him killed, but it was resolved to carry him before Tomonggong Soerapatti, who will, without doubt, deliver him into the hands of the Dutchmen at Bandjermasin, with whom he wishes to make peace.” “Is the prisoner unhurt? And where is he now?” were the important questions of the Swiss.