The trail led through the brushwood, in the midst of which the dead buffalo was lying, and thence into a belt of jungle which covered the bank of the river and extended upstream from a point a few hundreds of yards above Pěnghûlu Mat Saleh's village to Kuâla Chin Lâma, half a dozen miles away. The tiger had turned up-river after entering this patch of forest, and half a mile higher he had come out upon a slender foot-path through the woods.
When Pĕnghûlu Mat Saleh had followed the trail thus far, he halted and looked at his people.
"What say you?" he whispered. "Do you know whither this track leads?"
His companions nodded, but said never a word. They were obviously excited and ill at ease.
"What say you?" continued the Pĕnghûlu. "Do we follow or not follow?"
"It is as you will, O Pĕnghûlu," replied the oldest man of the party, speaking for his fellows. "We follow whithersoever you go."
"It is well," said the Pĕnghûlu. "Come, let us go."
No more was said when this whispered colloquy was ended, and the trackers set down to the trail again silently and with redoubled caution.
The narrow path which the tiger had followed led on in the direction of the river-bank, and ere long the high wattled bamboo fence of a native compound became visible through the trees. Pĕnghûlu Mat Saleh pointed at it, turning to his followers.
"See yonder," he said.
