his mind and his body, was that which had befallen him at the salt lick of Mîsong, a score of years and more before I chanced upon him.
He told me the tale brokenly, as a child might do, as he and I sat talking in the dim light of the dâmar torch, guttering on its clumsy wooden stand, set in the centre of the mat-strewn floor; and ever and anon he pointed to his stiff left arm, and to certain ugly scars upon his body, calling upon them to bear witness that he did not lie.
It was in the afternoon that Pandak Âris and his two Sakai followers reached the salt lick of Mîsong. They had been roaming through the forest all day long, blazing getah trees, for it was Pandak Âris's intention to prepare a large consignment of the precious gum, so that it might be in readiness when the washers for tin came up into the valley during the next dry season. The Malay and his Sâkai all knew the salt lick well, and as it was an open space near running water, and they were hungry after their tramp, they decided to halt here and cook rice. They built a fire near the base of a giant tree, which grew a hundred yards or so inland from the left bank of the stream, at a point where the furrowed earth of the lick begins to give place to heavy jungle. The dry sticks blazed up bravely, the flame showing pale and almost invisible in the strong sunlight of the afternoon, while thin vapours danced frenziedly above it. The small black metal rice pot was propped upon three stones in the centre of the crackling fuel, and while one of the Sâkai sat stirring
