The next moment an order was shouted to the boatmen, who lowered their oars with alacrity, and took a few strokes to lay the little naga alongside the prahu.
"Now's your time, Dick; let 'em have it. Ask what the devil are they up to, in Malay."
"I thought I was to coach you," said Beecher in a low tone; "but all right;" and he rose to the occasion, shouting angrily at their men, and then as the naga grazed against the sides of the prahu, he faced the swarthy-looking fellow in gay plaid sarong and natty scarlet cap who was frowning down at them.
"Hullo, old fellow," he cried. "What is it?"
"Come on board, all of you," was the fierce answer.
"All right; keep it up," said Hollins coolly, as he puffed away at his pipe.
"I'm not going on that miserable craft as a prisoner," said Beecher stubbornly.
"No, but we must go as visitors. Needs must when somebody drives. Keep it up, boy: we're fencing as to who shall go first. All right, then, I will," he cried cheerily, and, double gun in hand, pipe fast between his teeth, he stepped up and sprang over the side on to the split bamboo deck, facing the captain of the prahu and the fierce-looking crew of Malays, and closely followed by Beecher and their two men.
As Hollins, big, broad-shouldered, and manly, looking the very perfection of a muscular young Englishman, stepped on the deck, smiling, half-a-dozen of the spear-armed crew darted forward, and as many hands were outstretched to seize him by the shoulders, two of the men catching hold of his gun.
In an instant his aspect was changed. A fierce frown darkened his brows, and with an angry roar he swung himself round, snatching his gun from the detaining grasps, and clearing a space round him, as he cried in English—