ed a price for his head--enough
to make any man's fortune. He slept twice on board the Wild Rose when
things had begun to go wrong with him. I knew him, I knew all his
chiefs, the priests, the fighting men, the old regent who lost heart and
went over to the Dutch, I knew--" he stammered as if the words could not
come out, gave it up and sighed--"Belarab's father escaped with me," he
began again, quietly, "and joined the Padris in Sumatra. He rose to be
a great leader. Belarab was a youth then. Those were the times. I ranged
the coast--and laughed at the cruisers; I saw every battle fought in the
Battak country--and I saw the Dutch run; I was at the taking of Singal
and escaped. I was the white man who advised the chiefs of Manangkabo.
There was a lot about me in the Dutch papers at the time. They said I
was a Frenchman turned Mohammedan--" he swore a great oath, and, reeling
against the guard-rail, panted, muttering curses on newspapers.

"Well, Belarab has the job in hand," said Lingard, composedly. "He is
the chief man on the Shore of Refuge. There are others, of course. He
has sent messages north and south. We must have men."

"All the devils unchained," said Jorgenson. "You have done it and
now--look out--look out. . . ."

"Nothing can go wrong as far as I can see," argued Lingard. "They all
know what's to be done. I've got them in hand. You don't think Belarab
unsafe? Do you?"

"Haven't seen him for fifteen years--but the whole thing's unsafe,"
growled Jorgenson.

"I tell you I've fixed it so that nothing can go wrong. It would be
better if I had a white man over there to look after things generally.
There is a good lot of stores and arms--and Belarab would bear
watching--no doubt. Are you in any want?" he added, putting his hand in
his pocket.

"No, there's plenty to eat in the house," answered Jorgenson, curtly.
"Drop it," he burst out. "It would be better for you to jump overboard
at once. Look at me. I came out a boy of eighteen. I can speak English,
I can speak Dutch, I can speak every cursed lingo of these islands--I
remember things that would make your hair stand on end--but I have
forgotten the language of my own country. I've traded, I've fought, I
never broke my word to white or native. And, look at me. If it hadn't
been for the girl I would have died in a ditch ten years ago. Everything
left me--youth, money, strength, hope--the very sleep. But she stuck by
the wreck."

"That says a lot for her