The Strand Magazine, Volume V, Issue 28, April 1893 | Page 8

bird screech we
shall get little enough rest. I'm going to lie down again." He entered the

tent, followed by us, and stretching himself wearily was asleep a few
minutes after this, while Hassan and I sat conversing together, for the
strange, bird-like cry prevented me from following Denviers' example.
"Coot! Coot!" came the signal again, and in spite of my companion's
opinion I felt forced to agree with the Arab that there was something
more than a bird hooting, for at times I plainly heard an answering cry.
After our adventure in the northern part of Burmah we had travelled
south into the heart of Siam, where we parted with our elephant, and
passed down the Meinam in one of the barges scooped out of a tree
trunk, such as are commonly used to navigate this river. Disembarking
at Ayuthia we had visited the ruins of the ancient city, and afterwards
continued on our way towards the mouth of the river. While examining
the colossal images which lie amid the other relics of the city's past
greatness, Hassan had told us a weird story, to which, however, at that
time we paid but scant attention.
On the night when our Arab guide had roused us so suddenly, our tent
was pitched at some distance from the bank of the river, where a
fantastic natural bridge of jagged white limestone spanned the seething
waters of the tumbling rapids below, and united the two parts of the
great plain. Sitting close to the entrance of the tent with Hassan, I could
see far away to the west the tops of the great range of the Three
Hundred Peaks beyond the plain. Recollecting that Hassan had
mentioned them in his story, I was just on the point of asking him to
repeat it when I heard the strange cry once more. A moment after the
Arab seized me by the arm and pointed towards the plain before us.
I looked in the direction which Hassan indicated, and my eyes rested on
the dismantled wall of a ruined palace. I observed nothing further for a
few minutes, then a dusky form seemed to be hiding in the shadow of
the wall. "Coot!" came the signal again, striking upon the air softly as if
the one who uttered it feared to be discovered. The cry had apparently
been uttered by someone beyond the river bank, for the man lurking in
the shadow of the ruin stepped boldly out from it into the moonlit plain.
He stood there silent for a moment, then dropped into the high grass,
above which we saw him raise his head and cautiously return the

signal.
"What do you think he is doing there, Hassan? " I asked the Arab, in a
whisper, as I saw his hand wander to the hilt of his sword.
"The hill-men have seen our tent while out on one of their expeditions,"
he responded, softly. "I think they are going to attempt to take us by
surprise, but by the aid of the Prophet we will outwit them."
I felt no particular inclination to place much trust in Mahomet's help, as
the danger which confronted us dawned fully upon my mind, so instead
I moved quickly over to Denviers, and awoke him.
[Illustration: "THE SWARTHY FACE OF A TURBANED
HILL-MAN."]
"Is it the owl again?" he asked, as I motioned to him to look through
the opening of the tent. Immediately he did so, and saw the swarthy
face of a turbaned hill-man raised above the rank grass, as its owner
made slowly but steadily towards our tent, worming along like a snake,
and leaving a thin line of beaten-down herbage to show where his body
had passed. Denviers drew from his belt one of the pistols thrust there,
for we had taken the precaution at Rangoon to get a couple each, since
our own were lost in our adventure off Ceylon. I quietly imitated his
example, and, drawing well away from the entrance of the tent, so that
our watchfulness might not be observed, we waited for the hill-man to
approach. Half-way between the ruined palace wall and our tent he
stopped, and then I felt Hassan's hand upon my arm again as, with the
other, he pointed towards the river bank.
We saw the grass moving there, and through it came a second hill-man,
who gradually drew near to the first. On reaching him the second comer
also became motionless, while we next saw four other trails of
beaten-down grass, marking the advance of further foes. How many
more were coming on behind we could only surmise, as we watched the
six hill-men who headed them get into a line one before the other, and
then advance, keeping about five yards apart as they