130 IN MALAY FORESTS. 



The following Sunday, therefore, we set off to 

 seek the tapir. Leaving my house shortly after 

 daybreak, we drove some three miles along the 

 Kuala Kangsar Koad, a magnificent highway that 

 forms part of the main trunk system of the state. 

 Through the suburbs of Ipoh, the road was thronged 

 with rickshaws and bullock carts; at a level cross- 

 ing we had to pull up while the express for the 

 north clanged past. A few minutes later we met 

 a file of elephants, moving with solemn and majestic 

 pace along the strip of grass that lies between the 

 road metalling and the drain side. At a whirl of 

 dust in the distance, they stepped with quiet dignity 

 into the drain, and turned broad backs upon the 

 indecent turmoil and offence of a motor car, driven 

 by some European or Mongolian barbarian. Near 

 the third mile-stone was a little roadside shop kept 

 by a Malay, who catered for the simple necessities 

 of native housekeeping, and for the luxuries of 

 passers-by, whose dust -racked throats demanded 

 such products of Western civilisation as orangeade 

 and rose - champagne. At this shop we stopped. 

 The mare was taken out of the trap, and, while 

 the sais walked her up and down to cool, Malias 

 unpacked the rifle. I buckled on my cartridge-belt, 

 and he packed the sandwich -box and water-bottle 

 in a cloth, which he disposed sideways on his back 

 in the awkward Malay fashion, which is to pass the 

 cloth enclosing the bundle over the right shoulder 

 and under the left arm. After a few minutes' 

 gossip with the shopkeeper we started for the 

 sulphur spring. Following a native track for a 



