"Keep back, you insolent dogs!"
Beecher's heart seemed to rise to his throat, as he dropped the barrels of his own gun in his left hand, in answer to the movement on the part of the Malays, a dozen spears being levelled at him, while the captain looked on frowning, his hand resting upon his kris.
"Tell the captain here that we are British officers up the river shooting, Dick, my lad, and say he is to order his men to treat us with respect."
Beecher turned to the captain, and spoke to him haughtily in the native tongue, making the Malay frown and sign to the men, who raised their spears on the instant.
"Whose men are you?" continued Beecher. "Sultan Salah's?"
The captain answered in the affirmative.
"Take us to him then at once."
The captain hesitated for a moment.
"Do you hear me?" cried Beecher sharply.