"That we haven't, Mr Wilson," said a fresh voice, that of a bright-looking lad of sixteen, as he rose up in the long boat lying by the bamboo-made wharf at Dindong, the little trading port at the mouth of the Salan River, on the west coast of the Malay Peninsula. "Trust you for the fish-hooks, squire," said the first speaker. "But, I say, take a good look round, Murray. It's an awful fix to be in to find yourself right up in the wilderness with the very thing you want most left behind."…
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