"I am a warrior, Rajah, as well as a woman, with the same rights in the council that you have," Koyala reminded.

Wobanguli smiled his pleasantest. "True, my daughter," he agreed diplomatically. "But he is not yet ours. When we have snared the bird it is time enough to talk of how it shall be cooked."

"You told me at Bulungan that this would be decided on shipboard,"

Koyala replied sharply. A tempest began to kindle in her face. "Am I to be used as a decoy and denied a voice on what shall be done with my prisoner?"

"We haven't decided--" Van Slyck began.

"That is false!"

Van Slyck reddened with anger and raised his hand as though to strike her. Koyala's face was a dusky gray in its pallor and her eyes blazed with contempt.

"Peace!" Ah Sing rumbled sternly. "He is my prisoner. I marked him for mine before he was named resident."

"You are mistaken, Datu," Koyala said significantly. "He is my prisoner.

He comes here upon my invitation. He comes here under my protection. He is my guest and no hostile hand shall touch him while he is here."

Ah Sing's brow ridged with anger. He was not accustomed to being crossed. "He is mine, I tell you, woman," he snarled. "His name is written in my book, and his nails shall rest in my cabinet."

The Dyak blood mounted to Koyala's face.

"He is not yours; he is mine!" she cried. "He was mine long before you marked him yours, Datu."

Wobanguli hastened to avoid a rupture. "If it is a question of who claimed him first, we can lay it before the council," he suggested.

"The council has nothing to do with it," Koyala retorted. There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "I marked him as mine more than a year ago, when he was still a humble sailor with no thought of becoming resident.

His ship came to the mouth of the Abbas River, to Wolang's village, and traded for rattan with Wolang. I saw him then, and swore that one day he would be mine."

"You desire him?" Ah Sing bellowed. The great purple veins stood out on his forehead, and his features were distorted with malignancy.

Koyala threw back her head haughtily.

"If I do, who is going to deny me?"

Ah Sing choked in inarticulate fury. His face was black with rage.

"I will, woman!" he bawled. "You are mine--Ah Sing's--"

He leaped toward her and buried his long fingers, with their sharp nails, in the soft flesh of her arm. Koyala winced with pain; then outraged virginity flooded to her face in a crimson tide. Tearing herself away, she struck him a stinging blow in the face. He staggered back. Van Slyck leaped toward her, but she was quicker than he and backed against the wall. Her hand darted inside her kabaya and she drew a small, silver-handled dagger. Van Slyck stopped in his tracks.

Ah Sing recovered himself and slowly smoothed his rumpled garments. He did not even look at Koyala.

"Let us go," he said thickly.

Koyala sprang to the door. She was panting heavily.

"You shall not go until you pledge me that he is mine!" she cried.

Ah Sing looked at her unblinkingly. The deadly malignancy of his face caused even Van Slyck to shiver.

"You may have your lover, woman," he said in a low voice.

Koyala stared at him as though turned to stone. Suddenly her cheeks, her forehead, her throat even, blazed scarlet. She flung her weapon aside; it clattered harmlessly on the bamboo matting. Tears started in her eyes. Burying her face in her arms, she sobbed unrestrainedly.

They stared at her in astonishment. After a sidelong glance at Ah Sing, Wobanguli placed a caressing hand on her arm.

"_Bilian_, my daughter--" he began.

Koyala flung his arm aside and lifted her tear-stained face with a pa.s.sionate gesture.

"Is this my reward?" she cried. "Is this the return I get for all I have done to drive the _orang blanda_ out of Bulungan? My lover? When no lips of man have ever touched mine, shall ever touch mine--" She stamped her foot in fury. "Fools! Fools! Can't you see why I want him? He laughed at me--there by the Abbas River--laughed at my disgrace--yea, I know he was laughing, though he hid his smile with the cunning of the _orang blanda_. I swore then that he would be mine--that some day he should kneel before me, and beg for these arms around his, and my kiss on his lips. Then I would sink a dagger into his heart as I bent to kiss him--let him drink the deep sleep that has no ending outside of Sangjang."

Her fingers clenched spasmodically, as though she already felt the hilt of the fatal blade between them.

Van Slyck drew a deep breath. The depth of her savage, elemental pa.s.sion dazed him. She looked from man to man, and as he felt her eyes upon him he involuntarily stepped back a pace, shuddering. The doubt he had of her a few moments before vanished; he did not question but what he had glimpsed into her naked soul. Lkath and Wobanguli were convinced, too, for fear and awe of this wonderful woman were expressed on their faces.

Ah Sing alone scanned her face distrustfully.

"Why should I trust you?" he snarled.

Koyala started, then shrugged her shoulders indifferently and flung the door open for them to pa.s.s out. As Ah Sing pa.s.sed her he halted a moment and said significantly:

"I give you his life to-day. But remember, Bintang Burung, there is one more powerful than all the princes of Bulungan."

"The G.o.d Djath is greater than all princes and Datus," Koyala replied quietly. "I am his priestess. Answer, Lkath, whose voice is heard before yours in Sadong?"

Lkath bowed low, almost to the ground.

"Djath rules us all," he acknowledged.

"You see," Koyala said to Ah Sing, "even your life is mine."

Something like fear came into the eyes of the Chinaman for the first time.

"I go back to Bulungan," he announced thickly.

CHAPTER XX

LKATH'S CONVERSION

The afternoon sun was waning when Peter Gross's sailing proa arrived at Sadong. The resident had been fortunate in finding a Sadonger at Bulungan, and a liberal promise of bra.s.s bracelets and a bolt of cloth persuaded the rover to pilot them into Sadong harbor. Paddy Rouse accompanied his chief.

A vociferous crowd of Dyaks hastened to the beach under the misapprehension that the proa was a trader. When shouts from the crew apprised them that the _orang blanda_ chief was aboard, their cries of welcome died away. Glances of curious and friendly interest changed to glances of hostility, and men on the edges of the crowd slunk away to carry the news through the village. The inhospitable reception depressed Peter Gross, but he resolutely stepped into one of the sampans that had put off from sh.o.r.e at the proa's arrival and was paddled to the beach.

"We must be awfully popular here," Paddy remarked cheerfully, and he looked unabashed into the scowling faces of the natives. He lifted his hat. Rays from the low-hanging sun shone through his ruddy, tousled hair, making it gleam like living flame. A murmur of surprise ran through the crowd. Several Dyaks dropped to their knees.