Arrived at the swamp, which was now a broad pool of water with here and there a tuft or two of rank rushes showing above the surface, Sentul and his son each took a rod and began patiently angling for the little fishes. The sun crept lower and lower, quick- ening its pace as it neared the western horizon, till its slanting rays flooded the surface of the pool with the crimson hue of blood. The sky overhead was dyed a thousand gorgeous tints, and the soft light of the sunset hour in Malaya mellowed all the land. Sen- tul had watched many a hundred times the miracle of beauty which, in these latitudes, is daily wrought by the rising and the setting sun, and he looked now upon the colour-drenched landscape about him with the complete indifference to the glories of nature which is one of the least attractive qualities of the Malays. If the orgy of splendour above and the reddened pool at his feet suggested anything to him, it was only that the day was waning, and that it was time to be wending his way homeward.
He set to work to gather up his fishing-tackle while his son, squatting on the ground at his side, passed a rattan cord through the fishes' gills to their mouths, so that the take might be carried with greater case. While they were thus engaged a slight rustle in the high grass behind them caused both father and son to start and look round. Not a breath of wind was blowing; but none the less, a few feet away from lemn, the spear-shaped grass tufts were agitated slightly, as though the stalks were being rushed against by the passage of some wild animal.
