The Bětok River falls into the Upper Jělai, a stream which is also given over entirely to the Sâkai, and it is not until the latter river meets the Tělom and the Sĕrau, and with their combined waters form the lower Jělai, that the banks begin to be studded with scattered Malayan habitations.
Kûlop of the Harelip, of course, knew nothing of the geography of the country through which he was travelling, but running water, if followed down sufficiently far, presupposed the discovery, sooner or later, of villages peopled by folk of his own race. Therefore, he pressed forward eagerly, bullying and goading his Sâkai into something resembling energy. He had now more than a thousand dollars' worth of rubber on his rafts, and he was growing anxious for its safety. To the danger in which he himself went, he was perfectly callous and indifferent.
It was at Kuâla Měrăbau—a spot where a tiny stream falls into the upper Jělai on its right bank—that a small party of Sâkai lay in hiding, peering through the vegetation at the gliding waters down which Kûlop and his plunder must presently come. Each man carried at his side a quiver, fashioned from a single length of bamboo, ornamented with the dots, crosses, zigzags, and triangles which the Sâkai delight to brand upon their vessels. Each quiver was filled with darts about the thickness of a steel knitting needle, and some fifteen inches in length, with an elliptical piece of light wood at one end to steady it in its flight, and at the other a very sharp tip, coated with the black venom of the îpoh sap.
