IN SARAWAK JUNGLES 45
I should have liked to watch the men, swarming about the boata pushing, heaving, pullinga but I dared not look away from those rocks. The captain saw that I was getting groggy, and called to one of the men to leave the boat and go to me. I grasped his shoulder as I jumped. It helped a little, but not much.
I made resolutions about gymnasiums if I ever got back to civilisation. Then I jumped again, and seared a fresh bit of flesh. But a gymnasium wouldn't cool off those stones, I reflected. Still, if I could jump faster and farther it would help. . . . Never did upholstered chair seem so luxurious as that hard seat in the boat when finally I was back on it.
After an eternity we glimpsed a bamboo shack high on a ridge, and knew we had reached our destination. The police station is a flimsy structure of bamboo and lumber ; the whole cost was probably not more than twenty dollars worth of tobacco. It looked to us a haven of rest and comfort. And while we stretched out, resting, the cook's boat arrived. He was a welcome sight as he climbed the trail; a string of live chickens over his shoulder, and a frying pan in his hand.
Sunrise found the captain and myself again in the prahu, poling toward one of the inlets of the river. We had started for a dip, and must find a place reasonably safe from crocodiles. The little excursion took us past a spot on the river bank where a number of our men stood around a fire.