To this day I have not been able to account for Frank's
strange weakness. In all other circumstances he was as brave as a lion.
Staggering along as best we could, we arrived at the stream we had found
before--we dared not drink its water, even in our extremity--and followed
it to the glade, which this time we boldly entered. At first we saw no one,
but when we had advanced a few steps, we came upon three girls fishing from
the bank of the stream. As they darted off along the path that led up the
glade, we started after them, but we were so weak that, when we had gone
only a short distance, we had to sit down on the trunk of a large tree to
rest.
About a quarter of an hour later we heard steps, and shortly seven men
appeared by the same path.
Indicating by a motion of his hand that he wished the rest of us to remain
seated, Roger rose and went fearlessly to meet the seven. When he had
approached within a short distance, they stopped and drew their krises, or
knives with waved points. Never hesitating, Roger continued to advance
until he was within six feet of them, then falling on his knees and
extending his empty hands, he begged for mercy.
For a long time they stood with drawn knives, staring at him and at us;
then one of them put up his kris, and knelt in front of him and offered him
both hands, which, it seemed, was a sign of friendship.
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