Come, hen."
All arose now and gathered about him on the ground there in the full
sunlight. He evinced no uneasiness or surprise, and he employed no
mechanism or deception which we could detect.
"My good man," said he to Auberry, "let me take your knife." Auberry
loosed the long hunting-knife at his belt and handed it to him. Taking
it, Orme seated himself cross-legged on a white blanket, which he spread
out on the sandy soil.
All at once Orme looked up with an expression of surprise on his face.
"This was not the knife I wanted," he said. "I asked for a plain
American hunting-knife, not this one. See, you have given me a Malay
kris! I have not the slightest idea where you got it."
We all looked intently at him. There, held up in his hand, was full
proof of what he had said--a long blade of wavy steel, with a little
crooked, carved handle. From what I had read, I saw this to be a kris, a
wavy bladed knife of the Malays. It did not shine or gleam in the sun,
but threw back a dull reflection from its gray steel, as though lead and
silver mingled in its make. The blade was about thirty inches long,
whereas that of Auberry's knife could not have exceeded eight inches at
the most.
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