d, a score of miles below Samarinda, empties
into Makassar Straits, answered my requirements admirably, providing a
highroad to the country of my boyish dreams. Though I told the others
that I was going up the Koetei in order to see the strange tribes who
dwell along its upper reaches, I admitted to myself that I had one
object in view and one alone--to see the Wild Man.

Viewed from the deck of the _Negros_, Samarinda, which is the capital
of the Residency of Koetei, was entirely satisfying. It corresponded in
every respect to the mental picture which I had drawn of a Bornean
town. It straggles for two miles or more along a dusty road shaded by a
double row of flaming fire-trees. Facing on the road are a few-score
miserable shops kept by Chinese and Arabs and the somewhat more
pretentious buildings which house the offices of the European trading
companies. Further out, at the edge of the town, are the dwellings of
the Dutch officials and traders--comfortable-looking, one-story,
whitewashed houses with deep verandahs, peering coyly out from the
midst of fragrant, blazing gardens. The Residency, the Custom House,
the Police Barracks and the Koetei Club can readily be distinguished by
the Dutch flags that droop above them. The river-bank itself is one
interminable street. Here dwells the brown-skinned population--Malays,
Bugis, Makassars, and a sprinkling of Sea Dyaks. Sometimes the flimsy,
cane-walled, leaf-thatched huts, perched aloft on bamboo stilts, stand,
like flocks of storks, in clusters. Again they stray a little apart,
seeking protection from the pitiless sun beneath clumps of palms.
Malays in short, tight jackets and long, tight breeches of
kaleidoscopic colors were sauntering along the yellow road, oblivious
of the sun. On the shelving beach naked brown men were mending their
nets or pottering about their dwellings. Now and then I caught a
glimpse of a European, cool and comfortable in topee and white linen.
It was all exactly as I had expected. It was, indeed, almost too
story-booky to be true. Here, at last, was a green and lovely land,
unspoiled by noisy, prying tourists, where one could lounge the lazy
days away beneath the palm-trees or stroll with dusky beauties on a
beach silvered by the tropic moon. I was impatient to go ashore.

Changing from pajamas to whites, I ordered the launch to the gangway
and went ashore to pay my respects to the Resident. To leave your card
on the local representative of Que