Chapter Eleven.“I said it was a snake.”“Norman, Rifle, Tim! Help! Help!”“What’s the matter?” cried Tim. “Here, boys, quick! There’s something wrong at the house.”The three boys, who had heard the faint cries from a distance, set off at a run.“It must be aunt. The girls and mamma are down by the waterfall,” cried Rifle.“Yes; it’s aunt sure enough,” said Norman, as they saw the old lady hurrying toward them.“It must be the blacks come at last,” cried Tim; “and oh, boys, we have not got our guns!”“Who’s going about always tied to a gun?” cried Norman, angrily.—“Here, aunt, what’s the matter?”“Oh, my boy, my boy!” cried the old lady, throwing her arms about the lad’s neck, as he reached her first, and with so much energy that she would have upset him, and they would have fallen together had not his brother and cousin been close behind ready to give him their support.“But don’t cling to me, auntie,” cried Norman, excitedly. “If you can’t stand, lie down. Where are they?”“In—in the kitchen, my dear,” she panted; and then burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing, which came to an end as the boys hurriedly seated her beneath a tree.“How many are there, aunt?” whispered Rifle, excitedly.“Only one, my boys.”“One?” cried Norman. “I say, boys, we aren’t afraid of one, are we?”“No,” cried the others.“But I wish old Tam o’ Shanter was here with his nulla-nulla.”“Never mind,” said Norman, flushing up as he felt that, as eldest, he must take the lead. “There is no chance to get the guns. We’ll run round by the wood-house; there are two choppers and an axe there. He won’t show fight if he sees we’re armed.”“I don’t know,” said Rifle, grimly. “He must be a fierce one, or he wouldn’t have ventured alone.”“Perhaps there are a dozen of ’em behind, hiding,” said Tim. “Shall we cooey?”“No,” said Norman, stoutly. “Not till we’ve seen. He may be only begging after all. Come on.”“Stop! Stop! Don’t leave me here,” cried Aunt Georgie excitedly, as the boys began to move off.“But we can’t take you, aunt,” said Rifle, soothingly, “with a lot of blacks about.”“Blacks? Where?” cried Aunt Georgie rising.“Where you said: in the kitchen.”“Stuff and nonsense, boy! I never said anything of the kind. I said it was a snake.”“Snake!” cried the boys in chorus.“You didn’t say anything of the kind, aunt,” cried Norman, indignantly.“Don’t contradict, sir. I declare I never said a word about blacks. I went into the kitchen and heard a rustling sound between me and the door, and I thought it was one of the fowls come in to beg for a bit of bread, when I looked round, and there on the floor was a monstrous great serpent, twining and twisting about, and if I hadn’t dashed out of the place it would have seized me.”“A big one, aunt?”“A monster, my dear. But what are you going to do?”Norman laughed, and looked at the others.“Oh, I think we shall manage to turn him out, aunt,” he said.“But be careful, my dears, and don’t run into danger.”“Oh no; we’ll get the guns and talk to him through the window.”“I am glad it wasn’t mamma,” said Rifle.“Or the girls,” cried his cousin.“Then I’m of no consequence at all,” said the old lady, wiping her forehead and looking hurt. “Ah, well, I suppose I’m old and not of much importance now. There, go and kill the dreadful thing before it bites anybody.”They were not above eighty or ninety yards from the house, and they hurried on, closely followed by Aunt Georgie, meaning to go in by the principal door, when all at once a black figure, having a very magpieish look from the fact of his being clothed in an exceedingly short pair of white drawers, came from behind the house, and seeing them, came forward.“Hi! Shanter!” shouted Norman, “look out. Big snake.”The black’s hand went behind him instantly, and reappeared armed with his nulla-nulla as he looked sharply round for the reptile.“No, no; in the house,” cried Norman, leading the way toward the open door so as to get the guns.Shanter bounded before him, flourishing his club, all excitement on the instant.“No, no; let me come first,” said the boy, in a low husky voice. “I want to get the guns. The snake’s in the kitchen.”The black stopped short, and stood with his club hanging down, staring at the boy. Then a grin overspread his face as Norman reappeared with two loaded guns, one of which he handed to Tim, Rifle having meanwhile armed himself with an axe, from where it hung just inside the door.“Now then, come on round to the back. It’s a big one.”But Shanter laughed and shook his head.“Ah, plenty game,” he said. “Baal play game.”“No. There is one, really,” cried Norman, examining the pan of his gun. “It attacked aunt.”Shanter shook his head.“Baal. Can’t pidney. What say?”“Big snake no budgery, bite aunt,” said Norman.“Snake bite big white Mary. Baal bite: all mumkull.”“Oh, I do wish the man would speak English,” cried Aunt Georgie. “There, you boys, stand back.—Shanter, go and kill the snake.”Shanter shook his head and tucked his nulla-nulla in his waistband again, laughing silently all the time.“But there is a terribly great one, Shanter, and I order you to go and kill it.”“Baal mumkull snake.”“Yes; you can kill it, sir. Go and kill it directly. Throw that thing at it, and knock it down.”Shanter shook his head again.“Here, I’ll soon shoot it, aunt,” said Norman; but Aunt Georgie held his arm tightly.“No, sir, I shall not let you go.—Rifle, Tim, I forbid you to stir.—Shanter, do as I tell you,” she continued, with a stamp of her foot. “Go and kill that horrible snake directly, or not one bit of damper do you ever get again from me.”“Big white Mary gib Shanter plenty damper.”“Yes; and will again. You are a big, strong man, and know how to kill snakes. Go and kill that one directly.”Shanter shook his head.“Why, you are not afraid, sir?”“No. Baal ’fraid snake,” said Shanter in a puzzled way, as he looked searchingly from one to the other.“Then go and do as I say.”“He’s afraid of it,” said Norman. “I don’t like them, aunt, but I’ll go and shoot it.”“Mine baal ’fraid,” cried the black, angrily. “Mumkull plenty snake. Metancoly.”“Then why don’t you go and kill that one?” said Norman as his aunt still restrained him.“Baal snake bunyip,” cried Shanter, angrily, naming the imaginary demon of the blacks’ dread.“Who said it was a bunyip?” cried Rifle. “It’s a big snake that tried to bite aunt.”Shanter laughed and shook his head again.“Baal mumkull snake bulla (two) time. Mumkull bunyip plenty. Come again.”“What muddle are you talking?” cried Norman, angrily; “the brute will get away. Look here, Shan, are you afraid?”“Mine baal ’fraid.”“Then go and kill it.”“Baal mumkull over ’gain. Shanter mumkull. Make fire, put him in kidgen.”“What!” cried Aunt Georgie. “You put the snake in the kitchen?”The black nodded.“Mine put snake in kidgen for big white Mary.”“To bite me?”“Baal—baal—baal bite big white Mary. Big white Mary, Marmi (captain), plenty bite snake. Good to eat.”“Here, I see,” cried Norman, bursting out laughing, the black joining in. “He brought the snake for you to cook, auntie.”“What!” cried Aunt Georgie, who turned red with anger as the boy shook himself loose and ran round to the kitchen door, closely followed by Shanter and the others.As Norman ran into the kitchen, he stopped short and pointed the gun, for right in the middle of the floor, writhing about in a way that might easily have been mistaken for menace, was a large carpet-snake.Just as the boy realised that its head had been injured, Shanter made a rush past him, seized the snake by the tail, and ran out again dragging it after him with one hand, then snatching out his club, he dropped the tail, and quick as thought gave the writhing creature a couple of heavy blows on the head.“Baal mumkull nuff,” he said, as the writhing nearly ceased. Then, taking hold of the tail again, he began to drag the reptile back toward the kitchen door, but Norman stopped him.“No; don’t do that.”“Plenty budgery. Big white Mary.”“He says it’s beautiful, aunt, and he brought it as a present for you. Shall he put it in the kitchen?”“What?” cried Aunt Georgie; “make the horrid fellow take it, and bury it somewhere. I was never so frightened in my life.”All this was explained to Shanter, who turned sulky, and looked offended, marching off with his prize into the scrub, his whereabouts being soon after detected by a curling film of grey smoke.“Here, come on, boys,” cried Tim. “Shanter’s having a feed of roast snake.”“Let’s go and see,” cried Norman, and they ran to the spot where the fire was burning, to find that Tim was quite correct. Shanter had made a good fire, had skinned his snake, and was roasting it in the embers, from which it sent forth a hissing sound not unlike its natural utterance, but now in company with a pleasantly savoury odour.His back was toward them, and as they approached he looked round sourly, but his black face relaxed, and he grinned good-humouredly again, as he pointed to the cooking going on.“Plenty budgery,” he cried. “Come eat lot ’long Shanter.”But the boys said “No.” The grubs were tempting, but the carpet-snake was not; so Shanter had it all to himself, eating till Rifle laughed, and said that he must be like india-rubber, else he could never have held so much.
“Norman, Rifle, Tim! Help! Help!”
“What’s the matter?” cried Tim. “Here, boys, quick! There’s something wrong at the house.”
The three boys, who had heard the faint cries from a distance, set off at a run.
“It must be aunt. The girls and mamma are down by the waterfall,” cried Rifle.
“Yes; it’s aunt sure enough,” said Norman, as they saw the old lady hurrying toward them.
“It must be the blacks come at last,” cried Tim; “and oh, boys, we have not got our guns!”
“Who’s going about always tied to a gun?” cried Norman, angrily.—“Here, aunt, what’s the matter?”
“Oh, my boy, my boy!” cried the old lady, throwing her arms about the lad’s neck, as he reached her first, and with so much energy that she would have upset him, and they would have fallen together had not his brother and cousin been close behind ready to give him their support.
“But don’t cling to me, auntie,” cried Norman, excitedly. “If you can’t stand, lie down. Where are they?”
“In—in the kitchen, my dear,” she panted; and then burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing, which came to an end as the boys hurriedly seated her beneath a tree.
“How many are there, aunt?” whispered Rifle, excitedly.
“Only one, my boys.”
“One?” cried Norman. “I say, boys, we aren’t afraid of one, are we?”
“No,” cried the others.
“But I wish old Tam o’ Shanter was here with his nulla-nulla.”
“Never mind,” said Norman, flushing up as he felt that, as eldest, he must take the lead. “There is no chance to get the guns. We’ll run round by the wood-house; there are two choppers and an axe there. He won’t show fight if he sees we’re armed.”
“I don’t know,” said Rifle, grimly. “He must be a fierce one, or he wouldn’t have ventured alone.”
“Perhaps there are a dozen of ’em behind, hiding,” said Tim. “Shall we cooey?”
“No,” said Norman, stoutly. “Not till we’ve seen. He may be only begging after all. Come on.”
“Stop! Stop! Don’t leave me here,” cried Aunt Georgie excitedly, as the boys began to move off.
“But we can’t take you, aunt,” said Rifle, soothingly, “with a lot of blacks about.”
“Blacks? Where?” cried Aunt Georgie rising.
“Where you said: in the kitchen.”
“Stuff and nonsense, boy! I never said anything of the kind. I said it was a snake.”
“Snake!” cried the boys in chorus.
“You didn’t say anything of the kind, aunt,” cried Norman, indignantly.
“Don’t contradict, sir. I declare I never said a word about blacks. I went into the kitchen and heard a rustling sound between me and the door, and I thought it was one of the fowls come in to beg for a bit of bread, when I looked round, and there on the floor was a monstrous great serpent, twining and twisting about, and if I hadn’t dashed out of the place it would have seized me.”
“A big one, aunt?”
“A monster, my dear. But what are you going to do?”
Norman laughed, and looked at the others.
“Oh, I think we shall manage to turn him out, aunt,” he said.
“But be careful, my dears, and don’t run into danger.”
“Oh no; we’ll get the guns and talk to him through the window.”
“I am glad it wasn’t mamma,” said Rifle.
“Or the girls,” cried his cousin.
“Then I’m of no consequence at all,” said the old lady, wiping her forehead and looking hurt. “Ah, well, I suppose I’m old and not of much importance now. There, go and kill the dreadful thing before it bites anybody.”
They were not above eighty or ninety yards from the house, and they hurried on, closely followed by Aunt Georgie, meaning to go in by the principal door, when all at once a black figure, having a very magpieish look from the fact of his being clothed in an exceedingly short pair of white drawers, came from behind the house, and seeing them, came forward.
“Hi! Shanter!” shouted Norman, “look out. Big snake.”
The black’s hand went behind him instantly, and reappeared armed with his nulla-nulla as he looked sharply round for the reptile.
“No, no; in the house,” cried Norman, leading the way toward the open door so as to get the guns.
Shanter bounded before him, flourishing his club, all excitement on the instant.
“No, no; let me come first,” said the boy, in a low husky voice. “I want to get the guns. The snake’s in the kitchen.”
The black stopped short, and stood with his club hanging down, staring at the boy. Then a grin overspread his face as Norman reappeared with two loaded guns, one of which he handed to Tim, Rifle having meanwhile armed himself with an axe, from where it hung just inside the door.
“Now then, come on round to the back. It’s a big one.”
But Shanter laughed and shook his head.
“Ah, plenty game,” he said. “Baal play game.”
“No. There is one, really,” cried Norman, examining the pan of his gun. “It attacked aunt.”
Shanter shook his head.
“Baal. Can’t pidney. What say?”
“Big snake no budgery, bite aunt,” said Norman.
“Snake bite big white Mary. Baal bite: all mumkull.”
“Oh, I do wish the man would speak English,” cried Aunt Georgie. “There, you boys, stand back.—Shanter, go and kill the snake.”
Shanter shook his head and tucked his nulla-nulla in his waistband again, laughing silently all the time.
“But there is a terribly great one, Shanter, and I order you to go and kill it.”
“Baal mumkull snake.”
“Yes; you can kill it, sir. Go and kill it directly. Throw that thing at it, and knock it down.”
Shanter shook his head again.
“Here, I’ll soon shoot it, aunt,” said Norman; but Aunt Georgie held his arm tightly.
“No, sir, I shall not let you go.—Rifle, Tim, I forbid you to stir.—Shanter, do as I tell you,” she continued, with a stamp of her foot. “Go and kill that horrible snake directly, or not one bit of damper do you ever get again from me.”
“Big white Mary gib Shanter plenty damper.”
“Yes; and will again. You are a big, strong man, and know how to kill snakes. Go and kill that one directly.”
Shanter shook his head.
“Why, you are not afraid, sir?”
“No. Baal ’fraid snake,” said Shanter in a puzzled way, as he looked searchingly from one to the other.
“Then go and do as I say.”
“He’s afraid of it,” said Norman. “I don’t like them, aunt, but I’ll go and shoot it.”
“Mine baal ’fraid,” cried the black, angrily. “Mumkull plenty snake. Metancoly.”
“Then why don’t you go and kill that one?” said Norman as his aunt still restrained him.
“Baal snake bunyip,” cried Shanter, angrily, naming the imaginary demon of the blacks’ dread.
“Who said it was a bunyip?” cried Rifle. “It’s a big snake that tried to bite aunt.”
Shanter laughed and shook his head again.
“Baal mumkull snake bulla (two) time. Mumkull bunyip plenty. Come again.”
“What muddle are you talking?” cried Norman, angrily; “the brute will get away. Look here, Shan, are you afraid?”
“Mine baal ’fraid.”
“Then go and kill it.”
“Baal mumkull over ’gain. Shanter mumkull. Make fire, put him in kidgen.”
“What!” cried Aunt Georgie. “You put the snake in the kitchen?”
The black nodded.
“Mine put snake in kidgen for big white Mary.”
“To bite me?”
“Baal—baal—baal bite big white Mary. Big white Mary, Marmi (captain), plenty bite snake. Good to eat.”
“Here, I see,” cried Norman, bursting out laughing, the black joining in. “He brought the snake for you to cook, auntie.”
“What!” cried Aunt Georgie, who turned red with anger as the boy shook himself loose and ran round to the kitchen door, closely followed by Shanter and the others.
As Norman ran into the kitchen, he stopped short and pointed the gun, for right in the middle of the floor, writhing about in a way that might easily have been mistaken for menace, was a large carpet-snake.
Just as the boy realised that its head had been injured, Shanter made a rush past him, seized the snake by the tail, and ran out again dragging it after him with one hand, then snatching out his club, he dropped the tail, and quick as thought gave the writhing creature a couple of heavy blows on the head.
“Baal mumkull nuff,” he said, as the writhing nearly ceased. Then, taking hold of the tail again, he began to drag the reptile back toward the kitchen door, but Norman stopped him.
“No; don’t do that.”
“Plenty budgery. Big white Mary.”
“He says it’s beautiful, aunt, and he brought it as a present for you. Shall he put it in the kitchen?”
“What?” cried Aunt Georgie; “make the horrid fellow take it, and bury it somewhere. I was never so frightened in my life.”
All this was explained to Shanter, who turned sulky, and looked offended, marching off with his prize into the scrub, his whereabouts being soon after detected by a curling film of grey smoke.
“Here, come on, boys,” cried Tim. “Shanter’s having a feed of roast snake.”
“Let’s go and see,” cried Norman, and they ran to the spot where the fire was burning, to find that Tim was quite correct. Shanter had made a good fire, had skinned his snake, and was roasting it in the embers, from which it sent forth a hissing sound not unlike its natural utterance, but now in company with a pleasantly savoury odour.
His back was toward them, and as they approached he looked round sourly, but his black face relaxed, and he grinned good-humouredly again, as he pointed to the cooking going on.
“Plenty budgery,” he cried. “Come eat lot ’long Shanter.”
But the boys said “No.” The grubs were tempting, but the carpet-snake was not; so Shanter had it all to himself, eating till Rifle laughed, and said that he must be like india-rubber, else he could never have held so much.
Chapter Twelve.A Real Expedition.The Dingo Station never looked more beautiful than it did one glorious January morning as the boys were making their preparations for an expedition into the scrub. The place had been chosen for its attractiveness in the first instance, and two years hard work had made it a home over which Uncle Munday used to smile as he gazed on his handiwork in the shape of flowering creepers—Bougainvillea and Rinkasporum—running up the front, and hiding the rough wood, or over the fences; the garden now beginning to be wonderfully attractive, and adding to the general home-like aspect of the place; while the captain rubbed his hands as he gazed at his rapidly-growing prosperity, and asked wife and daughters whether they had not done well in coming out to so glorious a land.They all readily agreed, for they had grown used to their active, busy life, and were quite content, the enjoyment of vigorous health in a fine climate compensating for the many little pleasures of civilised life which they had missed at first. The timidity from which they had suffered had long since passed away; and though in quiet conversations, during the six early months of their sojourn, mother and daughter and niece had often talked of how much pleasanter it would have been if the captain had made up his mind to sell his property and go close up to some settlement, such thoughts were rare now; and, as Aunt Georgie used to say:“Of course, my dears, I did at one time think it very mad to come right out here, but I said to myself, Edward is acting for the best, and it is our duty to help him, and I’m very glad we came; for at home I used often to say to myself, ‘I’m getting quite an old woman now, and at the most I can’t live above another ten years.’ While now I don’t feel a bit old, and I shall be very much disappointed if I don’t live another twenty or five-and-twenty years. For you see, my dears, there is so much to do.”And now, on this particular morning, the boys were busy loading up a sturdy, useful horse with provisions for an excursion into the scrub. Sam German had left his gardening to help to get their horses ready; and full of importance, in a pair of clean white drawers, Shanter was marching up and down looking at the preparations being made, in a way that suggested his being lord of the whole place.All ready at last, and mounted. Mrs Bedford, Aunt Georgie, and the girls had come out to see them off, and the captain and Uncle Jack were standing by the fence to which the packhorse was hitched.“Got everything, boys?” said the captain.“Yes, father; I think so.”“Flint and steel and tinder?”“Oh yes.”“Stop!” cried the captain. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten something.”“No, father,” said Rifle. “I went over the things too, and so did Tim. Powder, shot, bullets, knives, damper iron, hatchets, tent-cloth.”“I know,” cried Aunt Georgie. “I thought they would. No extra blankets.”“Yes, we have, aunt,” cried Tim, laughing.“Then you have no sticking-plaster.”“That we have, aunt, and bits of linen rag, and needles and thread. You gave them to me,” said Rifle. “I think we have everything we ought to carry.”“No,” said the captain; “there is something else.”“They’ve forgotten the tea,” cried Hetty, merrily.“No. Got more than we want,” cried Rifle.“Sugar, then,” said Ida. “No; I mean salt.”“Wrong again, girls,” cried Norman. “We’ve got plenty of everything, and only want to start off—How long can you do without us, father?”“Oh,” said the captain, good-humouredly, “you are an idle lot. I don’t want you. Say six months.”“Edward, my dear!” exclaimed Mrs Bedford, in alarm.“Well then, say a fortnight. Fourteen days, boys, and if you are not back then, we shall be uneasy, and come in search of you.”“Come now, father,” cried Rifle, laughing. “I say, I do wish you would.”“Nothing I should enjoy better, my boy,” said the captain. “This place makes me feel full of desire adventure.”“Then come,” cried Norman. “It would be grand. You come too, Uncle Jack;” but that gentleman shook his head as did his brother.“And pray who is to protect your mother and sisters and aunt, eh?” said the captain. “No; go and have your jaunt, and as soon as you cross the range mark down any good site for stations.”“Oh, Edward dear,” cried Mrs Bedford, “you will not go farther into the wilderness?”“No,” he said, smiling; “but it would be pleasant to be able to tell some other adventurer where to go.”“I know what they’ve forgotten,” said Ida, mischievously, and on purpose—“soap.”“Wrong again, Miss Clever,” cried Norman. “We’ve got everything but sailing orders. Good-bye all.”“You will take care, my dears,” cried Mrs Bedford, who looked pale and anxious.“Every care possible, mother dear,” cried the lad, affectionately; “and if Tim and Rifle don’t behave themselves, I’ll give ’em ramrod and kicks till they do.—Now, father, Tam o’ Shanter’s looking back again. Shall we start?”“You’ve forgotten something important.”“No, father, we haven’t, indeed.”“You talked about sailing orders, and you are going to start off into the wilds where there isn’t a track. Pray, where is your compass?”“There he is, father,” cried Rifle, merrily; “yonder in white drawers.”“A very valuable one, but you can’t go without one that you can put in your pocket. What did we say last night about being lost in the bush?”“Forgot!” cried Norman, after searching his pockets. “Have you got it, Tim?”Tim put his hand in his pocket, and shook his head.“Have you, Rifle?”“No.”“Of course he has not,” said the captain; “and it is the most important thing of your outfit.“Here it is,” he continued, producing a little mariner’s compass; “and now be careful. You ought to have had three. Good-bye, boys. Back within the fortnight, mind.”Promises, more farewells, cheers, and twenty minutes later the boys turned their horses’ heads on the top of Wallaby Range, as they had named the hills behind the house, at the last point where they could get a view of home, pausing to wave their three hats; and then, as they rode off for the wilds, Shanter, who was driving the packhorse, uttered a wild yell, as he leaped from the ground, and set all the horses capering and plunging.“What did you do that for?” said Norman, as soon as he could speak for laughing, the effects on all three having been comical in the extreme.“Corbon budgery. All good. Get away and no work.”“Work?” cried Rifle. “Why, you never did any work in your life.”“Baal work. Mine go mumkull boomer plenty hunt, find sugar-bag. Yah!”He uttered another wild shout, which resulted in his having to trot off after the packhorse, which took to its heels, rattling the camping equipage terribly, while the boys restrained their rather wild but well-bred steeds.“Old Tam’s so excited that he don’t know what to do,” cried Tim.“Yes. Isn’t he just like a big boy getting his first holidays.”“Wonder how old he is,” said Rifle.“I don’t know. Anyway between twenty and a hundred. He’ll always be just like a child as long as he lives,” said Norman. “He always puts me in mind of what Tim was six or seven years ago when he first came to us.”“Well, I wasn’t black anyhow,” said Tim.“No, but you had just such a temper; got in a passion, turned sulky, went and hid yourself, and forgot all about it in half an hour.”“I might be worse,” said Tim, drily. “Heads!” he shouted by way of warning as he led the way under a group of umbrageous trees, beyond which they could see Shanter still trotting after the packhorse, which did not appear disposed to stop.“Well, I’m as glad we’ve got off as Shanter is,” said Rifle as they ambled along over the rich grass. “I thought we never were going to have a real expedition.”“Why, we’ve had lots,” said Tim.“Oh, they were nothing. I mean a regular real one all by ourselves. How far do you mean to go to-night?”“As far as we can before sunset,” said Norman; “only we must be guided by circumstances.”“Which means wood, water, and shelter,” said Tim, sententiously. “I say, suppose after all we were to meet a tribe of black fellows. What should we do?”“Let ’em alone,” said Rifle, “and then they’d leave us alone.”“Yes; but suppose they showed fight and began to throw spears at us.”“Gallop away,” suggested Tim.“Better make them gallop away,” said Norman. “Keep just out of reach of their spears and pepper them with small shot.”After a time they overtook the black, and had to dismount to rearrange the baggage on the packhorse, which was sadly disarranged; but this did not seem to trouble Shanter, who stood by solemnly, leaning upon his spear, and making an occasional remark about, “Dat fellow corbon budgery,” or, “Dis fellow baal budgery,”—the “fellows” being tin pots or a sheet of iron for cooking damper.“Fellow indeed!” cried Rifle, indignantly; “you’re a pretty fellow.”“Yohi,” replied the black, smiling. “Shanter pretty fellow. Corbon budgery.”But if the black would not work during their excursion after the fashion of ordinary folk, he would slave in the tasks that pleased him; and during the next few days their table—by which be it understood the green grass or some flat rock—was amply provided with delicacies in the shape of ’possum and grub, besides various little bulbs and roots, or wild fruits, whose habitat Shanter knew as if by instinct. His boomerang brought down little kangaroo-like animals—wallabies such as were plentiful on the range—and his nulla-nulla was the death of three carpet-snakes, which were roasted in a special fire made by the black, for he was not allowed to bring them where the bread was baked and the tea made.So day after day they journeyed on over the far-spreading park-like land, now coming upon a creek well supplied with water, now toiling over some rocky elevation where the stones were sun-baked and the vegetation parched, while at night they spread the piece of canvas they carried for a tent, hobbled the horses, and lay down to sleep or watch the stars with the constellations all upside down.They had so far no adventures worth calling so, but it was a glorious time. There was the delicious sense of utter freedom from restraint. The country was before them—theirs as much as any one’s—with the bright sunshine of the day, and gorgeous colours of night and morning.When they camped they could stay as long as they liked; when they journeyed they could halt in the hot part of the day in the shade of some large tree, and go on again in the cool delightful evening; and there was a something about it all that is indescribable, beyond saying that it was coloured by the brightly vivid sight of boyhood, when everything is at its best.The stores lasted out well in spite of the frightful inroads made by the hungry party: for Shanter contributed liberally to the larder, and every day Norman said it was a shame, and the others agreed as they thought of cages, or perches and chains; but all the same they plucked and roasted the lovely great cockatoos they shot, and declared them to be delicious.Shanter knocked down a brush pheasant or two, whose fate was the fire; and one day he came with something in his left hand just as breakfast was ended, and with a very serious aspect told them to look on, while he very cleverly held a tiny bee, smeared its back with a soft gum which exuded from the tree under whose shade they sat, and then touched the gum with a bit of fluffy white cottony down.“Dat fellow going show sugar-bag plenty mine corbon budgery.”“Get out with your corbon budgery,” cried Norman. “What’s he going to do?”They soon knew, for, going out again into the open, Shanter let the bee fly and darted off after it, keeping the patch of white in view, till it disappeared among some trees.“Dat bee fellow gunyah,” cried Shanter, as the boys ran up, and they followed the direction of the black’s pointing finger, to see high up in a huge branch a number of bees flying in and out, and in a very short time Shanter had seized the little hatchet Rifle carried in his belt, and began to cut big notches in the bark of the tree, making steps for his toes, and by their means mounting higher and higher, till he was on a level with the hole where the bees came in and out.“Mind they don’t sting you, Shanter,” cried Tim.“What six-ting?” cried Shanter.“Prick and poison you.”“Bee fellow ticklum,” he cried laughing, as he began chopping away at the bark about the hollow which held the nest, and brought out so great a cloud of insects that he descended rapidly.“Shanter let ’em know,” he cried; and running back to the camp he left the boys watching the bees, till he returned with a cooliman—a bark bowl formed by peeling the excrescence of a tree—and some sticks well lighted at the end.By means of these the black soon had a fire of dead grass tufts smoking tremendously, arranging it so that the clouds curled up and played round the bees’ nest.“Bee fellow baal like smoke,” he cried. “Make bee go bong.”Then seizing the hatchet and cooliman he rapidly ascended the tree, and began to cut out great pieces of dripping honeycomb, while the boys laughed upon seeing that the hobbled horses, objecting to be left alone in the great wild, had trotted close up and looked as if they had come on purpose to see the honey taken.It was not a particularly clean process, but the result was plentiful, and after piling his bark bowl high, Shanter came down laughing.“Plenty mine tickee, tickee,” he said; but it did not seem to occur to him that it would be advantageous to have a wash. He was quite content to follow back to the camp-fire and then sit down to eat honey and comb till Tim stared.“I say, Shanter,” he cried, “we didn’t bring any physic.”“Physic? What physic? Budgery?”“Oh, very budgery indeed,” said Rifle, laughing. “You shall have some when we get back.”Shanter nodded, finished his honey, and went to sleep till he was roused up, and the party started off once more.
The Dingo Station never looked more beautiful than it did one glorious January morning as the boys were making their preparations for an expedition into the scrub. The place had been chosen for its attractiveness in the first instance, and two years hard work had made it a home over which Uncle Munday used to smile as he gazed on his handiwork in the shape of flowering creepers—Bougainvillea and Rinkasporum—running up the front, and hiding the rough wood, or over the fences; the garden now beginning to be wonderfully attractive, and adding to the general home-like aspect of the place; while the captain rubbed his hands as he gazed at his rapidly-growing prosperity, and asked wife and daughters whether they had not done well in coming out to so glorious a land.
They all readily agreed, for they had grown used to their active, busy life, and were quite content, the enjoyment of vigorous health in a fine climate compensating for the many little pleasures of civilised life which they had missed at first. The timidity from which they had suffered had long since passed away; and though in quiet conversations, during the six early months of their sojourn, mother and daughter and niece had often talked of how much pleasanter it would have been if the captain had made up his mind to sell his property and go close up to some settlement, such thoughts were rare now; and, as Aunt Georgie used to say:
“Of course, my dears, I did at one time think it very mad to come right out here, but I said to myself, Edward is acting for the best, and it is our duty to help him, and I’m very glad we came; for at home I used often to say to myself, ‘I’m getting quite an old woman now, and at the most I can’t live above another ten years.’ While now I don’t feel a bit old, and I shall be very much disappointed if I don’t live another twenty or five-and-twenty years. For you see, my dears, there is so much to do.”
And now, on this particular morning, the boys were busy loading up a sturdy, useful horse with provisions for an excursion into the scrub. Sam German had left his gardening to help to get their horses ready; and full of importance, in a pair of clean white drawers, Shanter was marching up and down looking at the preparations being made, in a way that suggested his being lord of the whole place.
All ready at last, and mounted. Mrs Bedford, Aunt Georgie, and the girls had come out to see them off, and the captain and Uncle Jack were standing by the fence to which the packhorse was hitched.
“Got everything, boys?” said the captain.
“Yes, father; I think so.”
“Flint and steel and tinder?”
“Oh yes.”
“Stop!” cried the captain. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten something.”
“No, father,” said Rifle. “I went over the things too, and so did Tim. Powder, shot, bullets, knives, damper iron, hatchets, tent-cloth.”
“I know,” cried Aunt Georgie. “I thought they would. No extra blankets.”
“Yes, we have, aunt,” cried Tim, laughing.
“Then you have no sticking-plaster.”
“That we have, aunt, and bits of linen rag, and needles and thread. You gave them to me,” said Rifle. “I think we have everything we ought to carry.”
“No,” said the captain; “there is something else.”
“They’ve forgotten the tea,” cried Hetty, merrily.
“No. Got more than we want,” cried Rifle.
“Sugar, then,” said Ida. “No; I mean salt.”
“Wrong again, girls,” cried Norman. “We’ve got plenty of everything, and only want to start off—How long can you do without us, father?”
“Oh,” said the captain, good-humouredly, “you are an idle lot. I don’t want you. Say six months.”
“Edward, my dear!” exclaimed Mrs Bedford, in alarm.
“Well then, say a fortnight. Fourteen days, boys, and if you are not back then, we shall be uneasy, and come in search of you.”
“Come now, father,” cried Rifle, laughing. “I say, I do wish you would.”
“Nothing I should enjoy better, my boy,” said the captain. “This place makes me feel full of desire adventure.”
“Then come,” cried Norman. “It would be grand. You come too, Uncle Jack;” but that gentleman shook his head as did his brother.
“And pray who is to protect your mother and sisters and aunt, eh?” said the captain. “No; go and have your jaunt, and as soon as you cross the range mark down any good site for stations.”
“Oh, Edward dear,” cried Mrs Bedford, “you will not go farther into the wilderness?”
“No,” he said, smiling; “but it would be pleasant to be able to tell some other adventurer where to go.”
“I know what they’ve forgotten,” said Ida, mischievously, and on purpose—“soap.”
“Wrong again, Miss Clever,” cried Norman. “We’ve got everything but sailing orders. Good-bye all.”
“You will take care, my dears,” cried Mrs Bedford, who looked pale and anxious.
“Every care possible, mother dear,” cried the lad, affectionately; “and if Tim and Rifle don’t behave themselves, I’ll give ’em ramrod and kicks till they do.—Now, father, Tam o’ Shanter’s looking back again. Shall we start?”
“You’ve forgotten something important.”
“No, father, we haven’t, indeed.”
“You talked about sailing orders, and you are going to start off into the wilds where there isn’t a track. Pray, where is your compass?”
“There he is, father,” cried Rifle, merrily; “yonder in white drawers.”
“A very valuable one, but you can’t go without one that you can put in your pocket. What did we say last night about being lost in the bush?”
“Forgot!” cried Norman, after searching his pockets. “Have you got it, Tim?”
Tim put his hand in his pocket, and shook his head.
“Have you, Rifle?”
“No.”
“Of course he has not,” said the captain; “and it is the most important thing of your outfit.
“Here it is,” he continued, producing a little mariner’s compass; “and now be careful. You ought to have had three. Good-bye, boys. Back within the fortnight, mind.”
Promises, more farewells, cheers, and twenty minutes later the boys turned their horses’ heads on the top of Wallaby Range, as they had named the hills behind the house, at the last point where they could get a view of home, pausing to wave their three hats; and then, as they rode off for the wilds, Shanter, who was driving the packhorse, uttered a wild yell, as he leaped from the ground, and set all the horses capering and plunging.
“What did you do that for?” said Norman, as soon as he could speak for laughing, the effects on all three having been comical in the extreme.
“Corbon budgery. All good. Get away and no work.”
“Work?” cried Rifle. “Why, you never did any work in your life.”
“Baal work. Mine go mumkull boomer plenty hunt, find sugar-bag. Yah!”
He uttered another wild shout, which resulted in his having to trot off after the packhorse, which took to its heels, rattling the camping equipage terribly, while the boys restrained their rather wild but well-bred steeds.
“Old Tam’s so excited that he don’t know what to do,” cried Tim.
“Yes. Isn’t he just like a big boy getting his first holidays.”
“Wonder how old he is,” said Rifle.
“I don’t know. Anyway between twenty and a hundred. He’ll always be just like a child as long as he lives,” said Norman. “He always puts me in mind of what Tim was six or seven years ago when he first came to us.”
“Well, I wasn’t black anyhow,” said Tim.
“No, but you had just such a temper; got in a passion, turned sulky, went and hid yourself, and forgot all about it in half an hour.”
“I might be worse,” said Tim, drily. “Heads!” he shouted by way of warning as he led the way under a group of umbrageous trees, beyond which they could see Shanter still trotting after the packhorse, which did not appear disposed to stop.
“Well, I’m as glad we’ve got off as Shanter is,” said Rifle as they ambled along over the rich grass. “I thought we never were going to have a real expedition.”
“Why, we’ve had lots,” said Tim.
“Oh, they were nothing. I mean a regular real one all by ourselves. How far do you mean to go to-night?”
“As far as we can before sunset,” said Norman; “only we must be guided by circumstances.”
“Which means wood, water, and shelter,” said Tim, sententiously. “I say, suppose after all we were to meet a tribe of black fellows. What should we do?”
“Let ’em alone,” said Rifle, “and then they’d leave us alone.”
“Yes; but suppose they showed fight and began to throw spears at us.”
“Gallop away,” suggested Tim.
“Better make them gallop away,” said Norman. “Keep just out of reach of their spears and pepper them with small shot.”
After a time they overtook the black, and had to dismount to rearrange the baggage on the packhorse, which was sadly disarranged; but this did not seem to trouble Shanter, who stood by solemnly, leaning upon his spear, and making an occasional remark about, “Dat fellow corbon budgery,” or, “Dis fellow baal budgery,”—the “fellows” being tin pots or a sheet of iron for cooking damper.
“Fellow indeed!” cried Rifle, indignantly; “you’re a pretty fellow.”
“Yohi,” replied the black, smiling. “Shanter pretty fellow. Corbon budgery.”
But if the black would not work during their excursion after the fashion of ordinary folk, he would slave in the tasks that pleased him; and during the next few days their table—by which be it understood the green grass or some flat rock—was amply provided with delicacies in the shape of ’possum and grub, besides various little bulbs and roots, or wild fruits, whose habitat Shanter knew as if by instinct. His boomerang brought down little kangaroo-like animals—wallabies such as were plentiful on the range—and his nulla-nulla was the death of three carpet-snakes, which were roasted in a special fire made by the black, for he was not allowed to bring them where the bread was baked and the tea made.
So day after day they journeyed on over the far-spreading park-like land, now coming upon a creek well supplied with water, now toiling over some rocky elevation where the stones were sun-baked and the vegetation parched, while at night they spread the piece of canvas they carried for a tent, hobbled the horses, and lay down to sleep or watch the stars with the constellations all upside down.
They had so far no adventures worth calling so, but it was a glorious time. There was the delicious sense of utter freedom from restraint. The country was before them—theirs as much as any one’s—with the bright sunshine of the day, and gorgeous colours of night and morning.
When they camped they could stay as long as they liked; when they journeyed they could halt in the hot part of the day in the shade of some large tree, and go on again in the cool delightful evening; and there was a something about it all that is indescribable, beyond saying that it was coloured by the brightly vivid sight of boyhood, when everything is at its best.
The stores lasted out well in spite of the frightful inroads made by the hungry party: for Shanter contributed liberally to the larder, and every day Norman said it was a shame, and the others agreed as they thought of cages, or perches and chains; but all the same they plucked and roasted the lovely great cockatoos they shot, and declared them to be delicious.
Shanter knocked down a brush pheasant or two, whose fate was the fire; and one day he came with something in his left hand just as breakfast was ended, and with a very serious aspect told them to look on, while he very cleverly held a tiny bee, smeared its back with a soft gum which exuded from the tree under whose shade they sat, and then touched the gum with a bit of fluffy white cottony down.
“Dat fellow going show sugar-bag plenty mine corbon budgery.”
“Get out with your corbon budgery,” cried Norman. “What’s he going to do?”
They soon knew, for, going out again into the open, Shanter let the bee fly and darted off after it, keeping the patch of white in view, till it disappeared among some trees.
“Dat bee fellow gunyah,” cried Shanter, as the boys ran up, and they followed the direction of the black’s pointing finger, to see high up in a huge branch a number of bees flying in and out, and in a very short time Shanter had seized the little hatchet Rifle carried in his belt, and began to cut big notches in the bark of the tree, making steps for his toes, and by their means mounting higher and higher, till he was on a level with the hole where the bees came in and out.
“Mind they don’t sting you, Shanter,” cried Tim.
“What six-ting?” cried Shanter.
“Prick and poison you.”
“Bee fellow ticklum,” he cried laughing, as he began chopping away at the bark about the hollow which held the nest, and brought out so great a cloud of insects that he descended rapidly.
“Shanter let ’em know,” he cried; and running back to the camp he left the boys watching the bees, till he returned with a cooliman—a bark bowl formed by peeling the excrescence of a tree—and some sticks well lighted at the end.
By means of these the black soon had a fire of dead grass tufts smoking tremendously, arranging it so that the clouds curled up and played round the bees’ nest.
“Bee fellow baal like smoke,” he cried. “Make bee go bong.”
Then seizing the hatchet and cooliman he rapidly ascended the tree, and began to cut out great pieces of dripping honeycomb, while the boys laughed upon seeing that the hobbled horses, objecting to be left alone in the great wild, had trotted close up and looked as if they had come on purpose to see the honey taken.
It was not a particularly clean process, but the result was plentiful, and after piling his bark bowl high, Shanter came down laughing.
“Plenty mine tickee, tickee,” he said; but it did not seem to occur to him that it would be advantageous to have a wash. He was quite content to follow back to the camp-fire and then sit down to eat honey and comb till Tim stared.
“I say, Shanter,” he cried, “we didn’t bring any physic.”
“Physic? What physic? Budgery?”
“Oh, very budgery indeed,” said Rifle, laughing. “You shall have some when we get back.”
Shanter nodded, finished his honey, and went to sleep till he was roused up, and the party started off once more.
Chapter Thirteen.“Don’t Say He’s Dead.”It was comparatively an aimless expedition the boys were making. Certainly they were to note down any good sites for stations; but otherwise they roamed about almost wherever Shanter led them. Now it would be down some lovely creek, overhung by wide-spreading ferns, in search of fish; now to hunt out and slay dangerous serpents, or capture the carpet-snake, which the black looked upon as a delicacy. Twice over they came across the lyre-tailed pheasant; but the birds escaped uninjured, so that they did not secure the wonderful tail-feathers for a trophy.The last time Tim had quite an easy shot with both barrels, and there was a roar of laughter when the bird flew away amongst the dense scrub.“Well, you are a shot!” cried Norman.“Shanter plenty mumkull that fellow with boomerang,” said the black, scornfully.“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Tim, reloading coolly. “The feathers would only have been a bother to carry home.”“Sour grapes,” said Rifle, laughing.“Oh, all right,” replied Tim; “perhaps you’ll miss next. Why—”Tim stopped short, with the little shovel of his shot-belt in his hand, as he felt the long leathern eel-shaped case carefully.“What’s the matter?” said Norman.“You feel here,” cried his cousin.“Well,” said Norman, running his hand along the belt, “what of it?”“Full, isn’t it?” said Tim.“Yes. Quite full.”“You’re sure it’s quite full?”“Oh yes.”“Then I didn’t put any shot in my gun, that’s all. I loaded after I came out this morning.”“Well, you are a pretty fellow,” cried Rifle. “I shouldn’t like to have to depend on you if we were attacked by black fellows.”“Black fellow,” cried Shanter, sharply. “Baal black fellow. Plenty wallaby. Come along.”That day, though, they did not encounter any of that small animal of the kangaroo family, which were plentiful about the hills at home, but went journeying on along through the bush, with the grass-trees rising here and there with their mop-like heads and blossom-like spike. Even birds were scarce, and toward evening, as they were growing hungry and tired, and were seeking a satisfactory spot for camping, Tim let fall a remark which cast a damper on the whole party.“I say, boys,” he exclaimed, “whereabouts are we?”Norman looked at him, and a shade of uneasiness crossed his face, as he turned in his saddle.“What made you say that?” he cried.“I was only thinking that this place is very beautiful, but it seems to me all alike; and as if you might go on wandering for years and never get to the end.”“Nonsense!” said Rifle.“But how are we going to find our way back?”“Go by the sun,” said Norman. “It would be easy enough. Besides we’ve got the compass, and we could find our way by that.”“Oh, could we?” said Tim; “well, I’m glad, because it seemed to me as if we’ve wandered about so that we might get lost.”“What, with Shanter here?” cried Rifle. “Nonsense! He couldn’t lose himself.”“Want mine?” said the black, running back from where he was trudging beside the packhorse.“How are we to find our way back?” said Tim. The black stared without comprehending. “Here, let me,” said Rifle. “Hi, Shanter! Mine find big white Mary over there?” and he pointed.“Baal fine big white Mary,” cried the black, shaking his shock-head hard. “Big white Mary—Marmi dere.”He pointed in a contrary direction.“How do you know?” said Rifle.The black gave him a cunning look, stooped, and began to follow the footprints of the horses backward. Then turning, he laughed.“Of course,” said Norman. “How stupid of me! Follow the back track.”“But suppose it comes on to rain heavily, and washes the footmarks out. How then?”“Don’t you croak,” cried Norman, who was himself again. “Who says it’s going to rain?”“Nobody,” said Tim; “but it might.”“Pigs might fly,” cried Rifle.Just then Shanter gave a triumphant cry. He had come to a large water-hole, by which they camped for the night, and had the pleasure of seeing their tired horses drink heartily, and then go off to crop the abundant grass.“Now, boys,” said Norman that night, “I’ve something to tell you. To-morrow we go forward half a day’s journey, and then halt for two hours, and come back here to camp.”“Why?” cried Rifle.“Because we have only just time to get back as father said.”“Why, we’ve only—”“Been out eight days, boys,” interrupted Norman; “and there’s only just time to get back by going steadily.”“But we can’t get back in time,” argued Rifle. “We shall only have five days and a half.”“Yes we shall, if we don’t make any stoppages.”“Oh, let’s go on a bit farther; we haven’t had hardly any fun yet,” cried Rifle.But Norman took the part of leader, and was inexorable.“Besides,” he said, “the stores will only just last out.”To make up for it, they started very early the next morning, so as to get as far away as possible before returning. Then came the mid-day halt, and the journey back to the water-hole, over what seemed to be now the most uninteresting piece of country they had yet traversed, and Shanter appeared to think so too.“Baal black fellow; baal wallaby; baal snakum. Mine want big damper.”“And mine must plenty wait till we get back to camp,” said Norman, nodding at him, when the black nodded back and hastened the pace of the packhorse, whose load was next to nothing now, the stores having been left at the side of the water-hole.It was getting toward sundown when the ridge of rocks, at the foot of which the deep pure water lay, came in sight; and Shanter, who was in advance, checked the horse he drove and waited for the boys to come up.“Horse fellow stop along of you,” he said; “mine go an’ stir up damper fire.”“All right,” replied Norman, taking the horse’s rein, but letting it go directly, knowing that the patient would follow the others, while with a leap and a bound Shanter trotted off, just as if he had not been walking all the day.“I am sorry it’s all over,” said Rifle, who was riding with his rein on his horse’s neck and hands in his pockets. “We don’t seem to have had half a holiday.”“It isn’t all over,” said Tim; “we’ve got full five days yet, and we may have all sorts of adventures. I wish, though, there were some other wild beasts here beside kangaroos and dingoes. I don’t think Australia is much of a place after all.”“Hub!” cried Norman. “Look, old Tam has caught sight of game.”“Hurrah! Let’s gallop,” cried Rifle.“No, no. Keep back. He’s stalking something that he sees yonder. There: he has gone out of sight. I daresay it’s only one of those horrible snakes. What taste it is, eating snake!”“No more than eating eels,” said Rifle, drily. “They’re only water-snakes. I say, though, come on.”“And don’t talk about eating, please,” cried Tim, plaintively; “it does make me feel so hungry.”“As if you could eat carpet-snake, eh?”“Ugh!”“Or kangaroo?” cried Rifle, excitedly, as they reached the top of one of the billowy waves of land which swept across the great plain. “Look, Shanter sees kangaroo. There they go. No, they’re stopping. Hurrah! kangaroo tail for supper. Get ready for a shot.”As he spoke he unslung his gun, and they cantered forward, closely followed by the packhorse, knowing that the curious creatures would see them, however carefully they approached, and go off in a series of wonderful leaps over bush and stone.As they cantered on, they caught sight of Shanter going through some peculiar manoeuvre which they could not quite make out. But as they came nearer they saw him hurl either his boomerang or nulla-nulla, and a small kangaroo fell over, kicking, on its side.“Shan’t starve to-night, boys,” cried Tim, who was in advance; and in another minute, with the herd of kangaroos going at full speed over the bushes, they were close up, but drew rein in astonishment at that which followed.For as the boys sat there almost petrified, but with their horses snorting and fidgeting to gallop off to avoid what they looked upon as an enemy, and to follow the flying herd, they saw Shanter in the act of hurling his spear at a gigantic kangaroo—one of the “old men” of which they had heard stories—and this great animal was evidently making for the black, partly enraged by a blow it had received, partly, perhaps, to cover the flight of the herd.The spear was thrown, but it was just as the old man was making a bound, and though it struck, its power of penetration was not sufficient, in an oblique blow, to make it pierce the tough skin, and to the boys’ horror they saw the blunt wooden weapon fall to the earth. The next instant the kangaroo was upon Shanter, grasping him with its forepaws and hugging him tightly against its chest, in spite of the black’s desperate struggles and efforts to trip his assailant up. There he looked almost like a child in the grasp of a strong man, and to make matters worse, the black had no weapon left, not even a knife, and he could not reach the ground with his feet.Poor Shanter had heard the horses coming up, and now in his desperate struggle to free himself, he caught sight of Raphael.“Boomer—mumkull!” he yelled in a half-suffocated voice. “Mumkull—shoot, shoot.”The gun was cocked and in the boy’s hands, but to fire was impossible, for fear of hitting the black; while, when Norman rode close up, threw himself off his horse, and advanced to get a close shot, the kangaroo made vicious kicks at him, which fortunately missed, or, struck as he would have been by the animal’s terrible hind-claw, Norman Bedford’s career would, in all probability, have been at an end.Then, in spite of Shanter’s struggles and yells to the boys to shoot—to “mumkull” his enemy—the kangaroo began to leap as easily as if it were not burdened with the weight of a man; and quickly clearing the distance between them and the water-hole, plunged right in, and with the water flying up at every spring, shuffled at last into deep water.Here, knowing the fate reserved for him, Shanter made another desperate struggle to escape; but he was wrestling with a creature nearly as heavy as a cow, and so formed by nature that it sat up looking a very pyramid of strength, being supported on the long bones of the feet, and kept in position by its huge tail; while the black, held as he was in that deadly hug, and unable to get his feet down, was completely helpless.Without a moment’s hesitation, Norman waded in after them to try to get an opportunity to fire; but the kangaroo struck out at him again with all the power of its huge leg, and though it was too far off for the blow to take effect, it drove up such a cataract of water as deluged the lad from head to foot, and sent him staggering back.The next moment the object of the kangaroo was plain to the boys, for, as if endowed with human instinct, it now bent down to press poor Shanter beneath the water, and hold him there till he was drowned.Rifle saw it, and pressing the sides of his horse, and battling with it to overcome its dread of the uncanny-looking marsupial, he forced it right in to the pool, and urged it forward with voice and hand, so as to get a shot to tell upon Shanter’s adversary.It was hard work, but it had this effect, that it took off the kangaroo’s attention, so that there was a momentary respite for Shanter, the great brute rising up and raising the black’s head above the water, so that he could breathe again, while, repeating its previous manoeuvre, the kangaroo kicked out at Rifle, its claw just touching the saddle.That was enough, the horse reared up, fought for a few moments, pawing the air, and went over backwards. Then there was a wild splashing, and Rifle reached the shore without his gun, drenched, but otherwise unhurt, and the horse followed.The black’s fate would have been sealed, for, free of its assailants, the kangaroo plunged the poor helpless struggling fellow down beneath the surface, attentively watching the approach the while of a third enemy, and ready to launch out one of those terrible kicks as soon as the boy was sufficiently near.“Oh, Tim, Tim, fire—fire!” cried Norman, as he saw his cousin wade in nearer and nearer: “Quick! quick! before Shanter’s drowned.”Tim had already paused four yards away, and up to his armpits in water as he took careful aim, his hands trembling one moment, but firm the next, as the kangaroo, bending downward with the side of its head to him and nearly on a level with the water, which rose in violent ebullitions consequent upon Shanter’s struggles, seemed to have a peculiar triumphant leer in its eyes, as if it were saying: “Wait a bit; it is your turn next.”It was all the work of a minute or so, but to the two boys on shore it seemed a horrible time of long suspense, before there was a double report, the triggers being pulled almost simultaneously. A tremendous spring right out of the water, and then a splash, which sent it flying in all directions, before it was being churned up by the struggling monster, now in its death throes; then, gun in one hand, Shanter’s wrist in the other, Tim waded ashore, dragging the black along the surface, set free as he had been when those two charges of small shot struck the side of the kangaroo’s head like a couple of balls and crushed it in.Drenched as they were, the three boys got Shanter on to the grass, where he lay perfectly motionless, and a cold chill shot through all, as they felt that their efforts had been in vain, and that a famous slayer of kangaroos had met his end from one of the race. The sun was just on the horizon now, and the water looked red as blood, and not wholly from the sunset rays.“Shanter, Shanter, old fellow, can’t you speak?” cried Norman, as he knelt beside the black.Just then there was a tremendous struggle in the water, which ceased as suddenly as it had begun.“Man, don’t say he’s dead!” whispered Tim, in awe-stricken tones.Norman made no reply, and Rifle bent softly over the inanimate black figure before him, and laid a hand upon the sufferer’s breast.“You were too late, Tim; too late,” sighed Rifle. “I’d heard those things would drown people, but I didn’t believe it till now. Oh, poor old Shanter! You were very black, but you were a good fellow to us all.”“And we ought to have saved you,” groaned Norman.“I wish we had never come,” sighed Tim, as he bent lower. “Can’t we do anything? Give him some water?”“Water!” cried Norman, with a mocking laugh. “He’s had enough of that.”“Brandy?” said Rifle. “There is some in a flask. Father said, take it in case any one is ill.”“Get it,” said Norman, laconically, and his brother ran to where, not fifty yards away, the saddle-bags were lying just as they had been left early that morning.The brandy was right at the bottom, but it was found at last, and Rifle hurried with it to the black’s side.Norman took the flask, unscrewed the top, drew off the cup from the bottom, and held it on one side to pour out a small quantity, but as he held it more and more over not a drop came. The top was ill-fitting, and all had slowly leaked away.The lad threw the flask aside, and knowing nothing in those days of the valuable hints for preserving life in cases of apparent drowning, they knelt there, with one supporting the poor fellow’s head, the others holding his hands, thinking bitterly of the sad end to their trip; while, in spite of his efforts to keep it down, the selfish thought would come into Norman’s breast—How shall we be able to find our way back without poor Shanter?The sun had sunk; the water looked dark and black now. Night was coming on, and a faint curl of smoke showed where the fire left in the morning still burned feebly. But no one stirred, and with hearts sinking lower and lower in the solemn silence, the boys knelt there, thinking over the frank, boyish ways of the big sturdy savage who lay there before them.Once or twice a piping whistle was heard from some rail, or the call of a waterfowl, which made the horses raise their heads, look round, and then, uttering a low sigh, go on cropping the grass again, after looking plaintively at their masters, as if protesting against being turned out to graze with their reins about their legs and their bits in their mouths.Then, all at once, just as the stars were beginning to show faintly in the pearly-grey sky, the three boys started back in horror, for there was a curious sound, something between a yawn and a sigh, and Shanter suddenly started up and looked round. Then he rose to his feet, as if puzzled and unable to make out where he was.Then his memory came back, and he ran to the edge of the water-hole, peered through the darkness with his hand over his eyes, and without hesitation waded in, seized the kangaroo, as it floated, by one of its hind-legs, and dragged it ashore.“Marmi Rifle; chopper—chopper,” he cried.One was handed to him in silence, for a curious feeling of awe troubled the boys, and they could hardly believe in the truth of what they were seeing in the semi-darkness. But the blows they heard were real enough, and so was the wet figure of Shanter, as he approached them, bearing the great tail of his enemy.“Big boomer go bong,” said Shanter in a husky voice.“Want mumkull mine. Shanter mumkull big boomer. Now fire big roast and damper.”With a sigh of relief the boys made for the fire, threw on a few twigs to catch first, and as there were a good heap of embers, larger pieces of wood soon followed. Then after removing the horses’ saddles and bridles, and hobbling them to keep them from straying, the boys gladly took off some of their soaking garments and huddled round the fire, where the black was busily roasting the tail of the smaller kangaroo, which he had fetched, while the boys were occupied with their horses.“Mine wear baal clothes,” he said pityingly, as he, with his skin dry directly, looked at their efforts to dry themselves. Then the big tin billy was boiled and tea made, its hot aromatic draughts being very comforting after the soaking, and by that time the tail was ready, enough cold damper being found for that evening’s meal.But though all was satisfactory so far, Shanter did not join in. He would eat no damper, drink no tea, and he turned from the roast tail with disgust, squatting down over the fire with his arms round his knees, and soon after going off to a spot among the bushes, where he curled up under a blanket and was seen no more that night.“Poor old Shanter doesn’t seem well,” said Norman.“No wonder,” replied Tim.“And he thinks he killed the old man. Why didn’t you speak, Tim?”“Wasn’t worth it,” was the reply. “I didn’t want to kill the great thing.”An hour later the boys were under their canvas shelter, forgetting all the excitement of the evening, and dreaming—of being home in Norman’s case, while Rifle dreamed that a huge black came hopping like a kangaroo and carried off Aunt Georgie.As for Tim, he dreamed of the encounter again, but with this difference—the boomer had still hold of Shanter, and when he took up the gun to fire it would not go off.
It was comparatively an aimless expedition the boys were making. Certainly they were to note down any good sites for stations; but otherwise they roamed about almost wherever Shanter led them. Now it would be down some lovely creek, overhung by wide-spreading ferns, in search of fish; now to hunt out and slay dangerous serpents, or capture the carpet-snake, which the black looked upon as a delicacy. Twice over they came across the lyre-tailed pheasant; but the birds escaped uninjured, so that they did not secure the wonderful tail-feathers for a trophy.
The last time Tim had quite an easy shot with both barrels, and there was a roar of laughter when the bird flew away amongst the dense scrub.
“Well, you are a shot!” cried Norman.
“Shanter plenty mumkull that fellow with boomerang,” said the black, scornfully.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Tim, reloading coolly. “The feathers would only have been a bother to carry home.”
“Sour grapes,” said Rifle, laughing.
“Oh, all right,” replied Tim; “perhaps you’ll miss next. Why—”
Tim stopped short, with the little shovel of his shot-belt in his hand, as he felt the long leathern eel-shaped case carefully.
“What’s the matter?” said Norman.
“You feel here,” cried his cousin.
“Well,” said Norman, running his hand along the belt, “what of it?”
“Full, isn’t it?” said Tim.
“Yes. Quite full.”
“You’re sure it’s quite full?”
“Oh yes.”
“Then I didn’t put any shot in my gun, that’s all. I loaded after I came out this morning.”
“Well, you are a pretty fellow,” cried Rifle. “I shouldn’t like to have to depend on you if we were attacked by black fellows.”
“Black fellow,” cried Shanter, sharply. “Baal black fellow. Plenty wallaby. Come along.”
That day, though, they did not encounter any of that small animal of the kangaroo family, which were plentiful about the hills at home, but went journeying on along through the bush, with the grass-trees rising here and there with their mop-like heads and blossom-like spike. Even birds were scarce, and toward evening, as they were growing hungry and tired, and were seeking a satisfactory spot for camping, Tim let fall a remark which cast a damper on the whole party.
“I say, boys,” he exclaimed, “whereabouts are we?”
Norman looked at him, and a shade of uneasiness crossed his face, as he turned in his saddle.
“What made you say that?” he cried.
“I was only thinking that this place is very beautiful, but it seems to me all alike; and as if you might go on wandering for years and never get to the end.”
“Nonsense!” said Rifle.
“But how are we going to find our way back?”
“Go by the sun,” said Norman. “It would be easy enough. Besides we’ve got the compass, and we could find our way by that.”
“Oh, could we?” said Tim; “well, I’m glad, because it seemed to me as if we’ve wandered about so that we might get lost.”
“What, with Shanter here?” cried Rifle. “Nonsense! He couldn’t lose himself.”
“Want mine?” said the black, running back from where he was trudging beside the packhorse.
“How are we to find our way back?” said Tim. The black stared without comprehending. “Here, let me,” said Rifle. “Hi, Shanter! Mine find big white Mary over there?” and he pointed.
“Baal fine big white Mary,” cried the black, shaking his shock-head hard. “Big white Mary—Marmi dere.”
He pointed in a contrary direction.
“How do you know?” said Rifle.
The black gave him a cunning look, stooped, and began to follow the footprints of the horses backward. Then turning, he laughed.
“Of course,” said Norman. “How stupid of me! Follow the back track.”
“But suppose it comes on to rain heavily, and washes the footmarks out. How then?”
“Don’t you croak,” cried Norman, who was himself again. “Who says it’s going to rain?”
“Nobody,” said Tim; “but it might.”
“Pigs might fly,” cried Rifle.
Just then Shanter gave a triumphant cry. He had come to a large water-hole, by which they camped for the night, and had the pleasure of seeing their tired horses drink heartily, and then go off to crop the abundant grass.
“Now, boys,” said Norman that night, “I’ve something to tell you. To-morrow we go forward half a day’s journey, and then halt for two hours, and come back here to camp.”
“Why?” cried Rifle.
“Because we have only just time to get back as father said.”
“Why, we’ve only—”
“Been out eight days, boys,” interrupted Norman; “and there’s only just time to get back by going steadily.”
“But we can’t get back in time,” argued Rifle. “We shall only have five days and a half.”
“Yes we shall, if we don’t make any stoppages.”
“Oh, let’s go on a bit farther; we haven’t had hardly any fun yet,” cried Rifle.
But Norman took the part of leader, and was inexorable.
“Besides,” he said, “the stores will only just last out.”
To make up for it, they started very early the next morning, so as to get as far away as possible before returning. Then came the mid-day halt, and the journey back to the water-hole, over what seemed to be now the most uninteresting piece of country they had yet traversed, and Shanter appeared to think so too.
“Baal black fellow; baal wallaby; baal snakum. Mine want big damper.”
“And mine must plenty wait till we get back to camp,” said Norman, nodding at him, when the black nodded back and hastened the pace of the packhorse, whose load was next to nothing now, the stores having been left at the side of the water-hole.
It was getting toward sundown when the ridge of rocks, at the foot of which the deep pure water lay, came in sight; and Shanter, who was in advance, checked the horse he drove and waited for the boys to come up.
“Horse fellow stop along of you,” he said; “mine go an’ stir up damper fire.”
“All right,” replied Norman, taking the horse’s rein, but letting it go directly, knowing that the patient would follow the others, while with a leap and a bound Shanter trotted off, just as if he had not been walking all the day.
“I am sorry it’s all over,” said Rifle, who was riding with his rein on his horse’s neck and hands in his pockets. “We don’t seem to have had half a holiday.”
“It isn’t all over,” said Tim; “we’ve got full five days yet, and we may have all sorts of adventures. I wish, though, there were some other wild beasts here beside kangaroos and dingoes. I don’t think Australia is much of a place after all.”
“Hub!” cried Norman. “Look, old Tam has caught sight of game.”
“Hurrah! Let’s gallop,” cried Rifle.
“No, no. Keep back. He’s stalking something that he sees yonder. There: he has gone out of sight. I daresay it’s only one of those horrible snakes. What taste it is, eating snake!”
“No more than eating eels,” said Rifle, drily. “They’re only water-snakes. I say, though, come on.”
“And don’t talk about eating, please,” cried Tim, plaintively; “it does make me feel so hungry.”
“As if you could eat carpet-snake, eh?”
“Ugh!”
“Or kangaroo?” cried Rifle, excitedly, as they reached the top of one of the billowy waves of land which swept across the great plain. “Look, Shanter sees kangaroo. There they go. No, they’re stopping. Hurrah! kangaroo tail for supper. Get ready for a shot.”
As he spoke he unslung his gun, and they cantered forward, closely followed by the packhorse, knowing that the curious creatures would see them, however carefully they approached, and go off in a series of wonderful leaps over bush and stone.
As they cantered on, they caught sight of Shanter going through some peculiar manoeuvre which they could not quite make out. But as they came nearer they saw him hurl either his boomerang or nulla-nulla, and a small kangaroo fell over, kicking, on its side.
“Shan’t starve to-night, boys,” cried Tim, who was in advance; and in another minute, with the herd of kangaroos going at full speed over the bushes, they were close up, but drew rein in astonishment at that which followed.
For as the boys sat there almost petrified, but with their horses snorting and fidgeting to gallop off to avoid what they looked upon as an enemy, and to follow the flying herd, they saw Shanter in the act of hurling his spear at a gigantic kangaroo—one of the “old men” of which they had heard stories—and this great animal was evidently making for the black, partly enraged by a blow it had received, partly, perhaps, to cover the flight of the herd.
The spear was thrown, but it was just as the old man was making a bound, and though it struck, its power of penetration was not sufficient, in an oblique blow, to make it pierce the tough skin, and to the boys’ horror they saw the blunt wooden weapon fall to the earth. The next instant the kangaroo was upon Shanter, grasping him with its forepaws and hugging him tightly against its chest, in spite of the black’s desperate struggles and efforts to trip his assailant up. There he looked almost like a child in the grasp of a strong man, and to make matters worse, the black had no weapon left, not even a knife, and he could not reach the ground with his feet.
Poor Shanter had heard the horses coming up, and now in his desperate struggle to free himself, he caught sight of Raphael.
“Boomer—mumkull!” he yelled in a half-suffocated voice. “Mumkull—shoot, shoot.”
The gun was cocked and in the boy’s hands, but to fire was impossible, for fear of hitting the black; while, when Norman rode close up, threw himself off his horse, and advanced to get a close shot, the kangaroo made vicious kicks at him, which fortunately missed, or, struck as he would have been by the animal’s terrible hind-claw, Norman Bedford’s career would, in all probability, have been at an end.
Then, in spite of Shanter’s struggles and yells to the boys to shoot—to “mumkull” his enemy—the kangaroo began to leap as easily as if it were not burdened with the weight of a man; and quickly clearing the distance between them and the water-hole, plunged right in, and with the water flying up at every spring, shuffled at last into deep water.
Here, knowing the fate reserved for him, Shanter made another desperate struggle to escape; but he was wrestling with a creature nearly as heavy as a cow, and so formed by nature that it sat up looking a very pyramid of strength, being supported on the long bones of the feet, and kept in position by its huge tail; while the black, held as he was in that deadly hug, and unable to get his feet down, was completely helpless.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Norman waded in after them to try to get an opportunity to fire; but the kangaroo struck out at him again with all the power of its huge leg, and though it was too far off for the blow to take effect, it drove up such a cataract of water as deluged the lad from head to foot, and sent him staggering back.
The next moment the object of the kangaroo was plain to the boys, for, as if endowed with human instinct, it now bent down to press poor Shanter beneath the water, and hold him there till he was drowned.
Rifle saw it, and pressing the sides of his horse, and battling with it to overcome its dread of the uncanny-looking marsupial, he forced it right in to the pool, and urged it forward with voice and hand, so as to get a shot to tell upon Shanter’s adversary.
It was hard work, but it had this effect, that it took off the kangaroo’s attention, so that there was a momentary respite for Shanter, the great brute rising up and raising the black’s head above the water, so that he could breathe again, while, repeating its previous manoeuvre, the kangaroo kicked out at Rifle, its claw just touching the saddle.
That was enough, the horse reared up, fought for a few moments, pawing the air, and went over backwards. Then there was a wild splashing, and Rifle reached the shore without his gun, drenched, but otherwise unhurt, and the horse followed.
The black’s fate would have been sealed, for, free of its assailants, the kangaroo plunged the poor helpless struggling fellow down beneath the surface, attentively watching the approach the while of a third enemy, and ready to launch out one of those terrible kicks as soon as the boy was sufficiently near.
“Oh, Tim, Tim, fire—fire!” cried Norman, as he saw his cousin wade in nearer and nearer: “Quick! quick! before Shanter’s drowned.”
Tim had already paused four yards away, and up to his armpits in water as he took careful aim, his hands trembling one moment, but firm the next, as the kangaroo, bending downward with the side of its head to him and nearly on a level with the water, which rose in violent ebullitions consequent upon Shanter’s struggles, seemed to have a peculiar triumphant leer in its eyes, as if it were saying: “Wait a bit; it is your turn next.”
It was all the work of a minute or so, but to the two boys on shore it seemed a horrible time of long suspense, before there was a double report, the triggers being pulled almost simultaneously. A tremendous spring right out of the water, and then a splash, which sent it flying in all directions, before it was being churned up by the struggling monster, now in its death throes; then, gun in one hand, Shanter’s wrist in the other, Tim waded ashore, dragging the black along the surface, set free as he had been when those two charges of small shot struck the side of the kangaroo’s head like a couple of balls and crushed it in.
Drenched as they were, the three boys got Shanter on to the grass, where he lay perfectly motionless, and a cold chill shot through all, as they felt that their efforts had been in vain, and that a famous slayer of kangaroos had met his end from one of the race. The sun was just on the horizon now, and the water looked red as blood, and not wholly from the sunset rays.
“Shanter, Shanter, old fellow, can’t you speak?” cried Norman, as he knelt beside the black.
Just then there was a tremendous struggle in the water, which ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
“Man, don’t say he’s dead!” whispered Tim, in awe-stricken tones.
Norman made no reply, and Rifle bent softly over the inanimate black figure before him, and laid a hand upon the sufferer’s breast.
“You were too late, Tim; too late,” sighed Rifle. “I’d heard those things would drown people, but I didn’t believe it till now. Oh, poor old Shanter! You were very black, but you were a good fellow to us all.”
“And we ought to have saved you,” groaned Norman.
“I wish we had never come,” sighed Tim, as he bent lower. “Can’t we do anything? Give him some water?”
“Water!” cried Norman, with a mocking laugh. “He’s had enough of that.”
“Brandy?” said Rifle. “There is some in a flask. Father said, take it in case any one is ill.”
“Get it,” said Norman, laconically, and his brother ran to where, not fifty yards away, the saddle-bags were lying just as they had been left early that morning.
The brandy was right at the bottom, but it was found at last, and Rifle hurried with it to the black’s side.
Norman took the flask, unscrewed the top, drew off the cup from the bottom, and held it on one side to pour out a small quantity, but as he held it more and more over not a drop came. The top was ill-fitting, and all had slowly leaked away.
The lad threw the flask aside, and knowing nothing in those days of the valuable hints for preserving life in cases of apparent drowning, they knelt there, with one supporting the poor fellow’s head, the others holding his hands, thinking bitterly of the sad end to their trip; while, in spite of his efforts to keep it down, the selfish thought would come into Norman’s breast—How shall we be able to find our way back without poor Shanter?
The sun had sunk; the water looked dark and black now. Night was coming on, and a faint curl of smoke showed where the fire left in the morning still burned feebly. But no one stirred, and with hearts sinking lower and lower in the solemn silence, the boys knelt there, thinking over the frank, boyish ways of the big sturdy savage who lay there before them.
Once or twice a piping whistle was heard from some rail, or the call of a waterfowl, which made the horses raise their heads, look round, and then, uttering a low sigh, go on cropping the grass again, after looking plaintively at their masters, as if protesting against being turned out to graze with their reins about their legs and their bits in their mouths.
Then, all at once, just as the stars were beginning to show faintly in the pearly-grey sky, the three boys started back in horror, for there was a curious sound, something between a yawn and a sigh, and Shanter suddenly started up and looked round. Then he rose to his feet, as if puzzled and unable to make out where he was.
Then his memory came back, and he ran to the edge of the water-hole, peered through the darkness with his hand over his eyes, and without hesitation waded in, seized the kangaroo, as it floated, by one of its hind-legs, and dragged it ashore.
“Marmi Rifle; chopper—chopper,” he cried.
One was handed to him in silence, for a curious feeling of awe troubled the boys, and they could hardly believe in the truth of what they were seeing in the semi-darkness. But the blows they heard were real enough, and so was the wet figure of Shanter, as he approached them, bearing the great tail of his enemy.
“Big boomer go bong,” said Shanter in a husky voice.
“Want mumkull mine. Shanter mumkull big boomer. Now fire big roast and damper.”
With a sigh of relief the boys made for the fire, threw on a few twigs to catch first, and as there were a good heap of embers, larger pieces of wood soon followed. Then after removing the horses’ saddles and bridles, and hobbling them to keep them from straying, the boys gladly took off some of their soaking garments and huddled round the fire, where the black was busily roasting the tail of the smaller kangaroo, which he had fetched, while the boys were occupied with their horses.
“Mine wear baal clothes,” he said pityingly, as he, with his skin dry directly, looked at their efforts to dry themselves. Then the big tin billy was boiled and tea made, its hot aromatic draughts being very comforting after the soaking, and by that time the tail was ready, enough cold damper being found for that evening’s meal.
But though all was satisfactory so far, Shanter did not join in. He would eat no damper, drink no tea, and he turned from the roast tail with disgust, squatting down over the fire with his arms round his knees, and soon after going off to a spot among the bushes, where he curled up under a blanket and was seen no more that night.
“Poor old Shanter doesn’t seem well,” said Norman.
“No wonder,” replied Tim.
“And he thinks he killed the old man. Why didn’t you speak, Tim?”
“Wasn’t worth it,” was the reply. “I didn’t want to kill the great thing.”
An hour later the boys were under their canvas shelter, forgetting all the excitement of the evening, and dreaming—of being home in Norman’s case, while Rifle dreamed that a huge black came hopping like a kangaroo and carried off Aunt Georgie.
As for Tim, he dreamed of the encounter again, but with this difference—the boomer had still hold of Shanter, and when he took up the gun to fire it would not go off.
Chapter Fourteen.“Can’t find way back.”It was long before sunrise when the boys rose to see after Shanter, expecting to find him still lying down, but he was up and over by the water-hole examining the huge kangaroo.“Mine mumkull kangaroo,” he said, as the boys came up, and then, “Baal.”“Didn’t you kill it, Shanter?” said Norman, smiling. “Baal. Who kill boomer? Big hole all along.” He pointed to the terrible wound in the animal’s head caused by the shots Tim had fired. And as the black spoke he examined the knob at the end of his nulla-nulla, comparing it with the wound, and shook his head.“Baal make plenty sore place like dat. Go all along other side make hole. Baal.”He stood shaking his head in a profound state of puzzledom as to how the wound came, while the boys enjoyed his confusion. Then all at once his face lit up.“Bunyip mumkull boomer. All go bong.”“You should say all go bong Tam. Why, can’t you see? Tim shot him while he was holding your head under water.”“Eh? Marmi Tim shoot? What a pity!”“Pity?” cried Rifle, staring at the black’s solemn face. “Pity that Tim saved your life.”“Mine want mumkull big boomer.”“Never mind: he’s dead,” cried Norman. “Now come along and let’s boil the billy, and make some damper and tea.”“Mine don’t want big damper,” said Shanter, rubbing himself gently about the chest and ribs.“What? Not want something to eat?”“Baal, can’t eat,” replied the black. “Mine got sore all along. Dat boomer fellow squeezum.”Norman laid his hand gently on the black’s side, wondering whether the poor fellow had a broken rib, when, with the most solemn of faces, Shanter uttered a loud squeak.Norman snatched back his hand, but placed it directly after on the other side, when Shanter squeaked again more loudly; and at every touch, back or front, there was a loud cry, the black looking from one to the other in the most lugubrious way.“Why, Shanter, you seem to be bad all over,” said Rifle.“Yohi. Mine bad all along, plenty mine bad. Tam go bong.”“Nonsense!” cried Norman. “Come and have a good breakfast. Plenty damper, plenty tea, and you’ll be better.”“Baal damper—baal big tea,” said the black, rubbing himself. “Boomer mumkull Tam o’ Shanter. Mine go bong.”He laid himself gently down on the grass, rolled a little and groaned, and then stretched himself out, and shut his eyes.“Oh, it’s only his games,” said Rifle.—“Here, Shanter, old chap, jump up and say thanky, thanky to Marmi Tim for saving your life.”“Marmi Tim baal save Tam o’ Shanter. All go along bong.”“I’m afraid he is bad,” said Norman, going down on one knee to pass his hand over the poor fellow’s ribs, with the result that he uttered a prolonged moan; “but I don’t think there are any bones broken. Let’s get some breakfast ready. He’ll be better after some hot tea.”They threw a pile of wood on the embers, in which a damper was soon baking; and as soon as the billy boiled, a handful of tea was thrown in and the tin lifted from the fire to stand and draw. But though they took Tam a well-sweetened pannikin of the refreshing drink he would not swallow it, neither would he partake of the pleasant smelling, freshly-baked cake.“I say, I’m afraid the poor chap is bad,” whispered Tim.“Not he,” said Rifle. “His ribs are sore with the hugging the boomer gave him, but he’s only shamming. I’ll rouse him up.”He made a sign to Norman, who looked very anxious, and when the lads were a few yards away, Rifle made them a sign to watch their patient, who lay quite still with his eyes shut, and then suddenly shouted:“Quick, boys, guns—guns! Black fellows coming.”Shanter started up into a sitting position and tried to drag out his nulla-nulla, but his eyes closed again, and he fell back heavily.Norman tried to catch him, but he was too late, and a glance showed that there was no deceit in the matter, for the drops of agony were standing on the black’s face, and it was quite evident that he had fainted away.He soon came to, however, and lay gazing wonderingly about him.“Black fellow?” he whispered anxiously, as if the effort caused him a great deal of pain.“All gone along,” cried Rifle, eagerly; and the black closed his eyes again, while the boys consulted as to what they had better do.“That’s soon settled,” said Norman. “We can’t fetch help to him, and he can’t move, so we must stop here till he gets better. Let’s cut some sticks and drive them in the ground, tie them together at the tops, and spread a couple of blankets over them.”This was done so as to shelter their invalid from the sun, and then they saw to their own tent and prepared for a longer stay. After this Tim and Rifle went off to try to shoot something, and Norman stopped to watch the black.It was a weary hot day, and the boys were so long that Norman began to grow anxious and full of imaginations. Suppose the lads got bushed! He would have to strike their trail and try to find them. Suppose poor Shanter were to die before they came back! How horrible to be alone with the dead out there in that solitary place.The sun rose to its full height, and then began to descend, but the black neither moved nor spoke, and the only companionship Norman had was that of the two horses—his own and the one which carried the pack. These cropped the grass round about the camp, their hobble chains rattling a little, and the peculiar snort a horse gives in blowing insects out of the grass he eats were the principal sounds the boy heard. It was some comfort to walk to where they grazed and pat and talk to them.But he was soon back by Shanter’s blanket-gunyah watching the shiny black face, which looked very hard and stern now. He had tried him again and again with tea, water, and bread, but there was no response; and at last he had settled down to letting him rest, hoping that his patient was asleep, and feeling that he could do nothing but leave him to nature.But it was a sad vigil, and not made more pleasant by the sight of the great kangaroo lying just at the edge of the water-hole, and toward which a perfect stream of insects were already hurrying over the dry ground, while flies buzzed incessantly about it in the air. Then, too, again and again some great bird came circling round, but only to be kept at a distance by the sight of the watcher by the tents.“Will they never come back!” cried Norman at last, quite aloud, and he started in alarm, for there was a loud discordant laugh close at hand.He picked up a stone and threw it angrily into the ragged tree from whence the sound had come, and one of the great grotesque-looking kingfishers of the country flew off.At last, after scanning the distant horizon for hours, seeing nothing but a few kangaroos which looked like black fellows in the distance, and a couple of emus stalking slowly across the plain, Norman could bear it no longer.“Shanter,” he said; “must go and find Marmi Rifle and Marmi Tim. Do you hear? I’ll come back as soon as I can.”But there was not so much as a twitch at the corners of the black’s lips, and the boy hesitated about leaving him. At last though he rose, caught and saddled his horse, gave one final look round, but could see nothing; and he was about to mount when a sudden thought occurred to him, and taking a couple of halters he knotted them together, hitched one over the kangaroo’s neck, and attached the other end to the saddle.The horse jibbed and shied a little, but at last he made a plunge, and the dead animal was dragged into a hollow a couple of hundred yards away, so that there should be no fear of its contaminating the water-hole. Then the halters were cast off, thrown over the tent, and after a glance at Shanter, Norman mounted to take up the trail made by Rifle and Tim, but only leaped down again, and turned his horse out to graze; for there away in the distance were the two boys cantering gently toward the camp, and half an hour later they rode up, well supplied with clucks which they had shot right away upon a creek.That night passed with one of them watching, and the next two days glided by in the same dreary way, Shanter lying as if unconscious, and nothing passed his lips.“Father can’t be angry with us for not keeping to our time,” said Rifle, sadly. “Poor old Shanter, I wish I could do him some good.”That night passed and still there was no change, and about mid-day the boys were dolefully examining their stock of provisions, which was getting very low; and it had been decided that they should watch that night and shoot anything which came to the water-hole to drink, though the animals likely so to do were neither many nor tempting for food to a European.There was no choosing as to whom the duty should fall upon; for all decided to watch, and after seeing that Shanter lay unchanged, night had about waned, and they were gazing at the stars in silence, for fear of startling anything on its way to the pool, when just as they were feeling that the case was hopeless, and that they might as well give up, Norman suddenly touched Tim, who pressed his hand, for he too had heard the sound of some animal drinking.They strained their eyes in the direction, but could see nothing, only the bushes which dotted the edge of the water-hole on its low side, the far end being composed of a wall of rocks going sheer down into the deep water.What could it be? They had had no experience in such matters, and in the darkness there all was so strange and weird that sounds seemed to be different to what they would have been in the broad day.But they wanted food, and there was some animal drinking, and though they supposed the country to be utterly devoid of deer, it still was possible that such creatures might exist, and it would be a new discovery if they shot an antelope or stag.But the moments glided by, and the sound ceased without either of them being able to locate the position of the drinker. Their cocked guns were ready, and if they could have made out the slightest movement they would have fired; but there was the water gleaming with the reflection of a star here and there; there was the black mass where the rocks rose up, and that was all. They could not distinctly make out so much as a bush, and quite in despair at last, Norman was about to whisper a proposal that one of them should fire in the direction they fancied to be the most likely, while the others took their chance of a snap shot, when there was a noise straight before them, just at the edge of the water. Norman levelled his piece, took careful aim, and was about to draw trigger, when he distinctly caught sight of a moving figure a little beyond where he had heard the noise, and a voice grumbled out: “What gone along big boomer?”“Shanter!” shouted Norman, excitedly. “Oh, I nearly fired.”“Marmi,” said the black as the boys ran up trembling with the thought of the mistake they had nearly made, “Baal find big boomer.”“No, no, it’s gone; but what are you doing here?”“Mine have big drink. Go back sleep now.”“But are you better?” said Rifle.“Mine all sore along. Boomer fellow squeezum.”He spoke rather faintly, and walked slowly as they went back to the blanket-gunyah, where the black lay down directly, uttering a deep groan, as he moved himself painfully.“There was plenty of water here, Shanter,” said Norman.“Piggi (the sun) gone sleep. Mine can’t see.”They spoke to him again, but there was no reply, his breathing told, however, that he had dropped off, and Norman elected to keep watch till morning, and the others went to the tent.It was just after daybreak when Norman heard a rustling, and looking round there was Tam creeping out from his shelter.“Make big fire—make damper,” he said quietly, and to the lad’s delight the black went slowly about the task of blowing the embers, and getting a few leaves and twigs to burn before heaping up the abundant supply of wood close at hand.Breakfast was soon ready, the boys being in the highest of glee, and Shanter sat and ate and smiled broadly at the friendly demonstrations which kept greeting him.“Mine been along big sleep, get well,” he said in reply to the congratulations showered upon him, and then proved quite willing to sit still while the packhorse was loaded—lightly now—and the others caught, saddled, and bridled, and a glance round given before they made a start to follow the trail back home.Then followed a little discussion as to the order of starting, but Shanter settled it by tucking his nulla-nulla and boomerang into his waistband, shouldering his spear, and starting off at the head of the packhorse which followed him like a dog.“All right,” said Norman.“Yes. What a rum fellow he is!” whispered Rifle. “But I wouldn’t go very far to-day.”The boys mounted, and gave a cheer as they said farewell to the water-hole.“It almost seems as if all this had been a dream,” said Tim, as they rode on behind the black. “You wouldn’t think he had been so bad.”“Yes, you would,” cried Norman, urging his horse forward, as he saw Shanter make a snatch at the packhorse’s load, and then reel.But Norman saved him, and the poor fellow looked at him piteously. “Big boomer squeeze mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “Legs baal walk along.”That was very evident, for he was streaming with perspiration, and gladly drank some water from their tubs.Then the difficulty was solved by Norman making Shanter mount the horse he had himself ridden, and the journey was continued with the black striding the saddle and holding on by the sides of the stirrup-irons with his toes, for he could not be induced to place his foot flat on the bar, which he declared to be plenty “prickenum,” and always placing his first and second toes on either side of the outer edge of the upright part of the stirrup.The pleasure had gone out of the trip now. It had been full of hard work before, but it was labour mingled with excitement; now it was full of anxiety as the little party noted Shanter’s weakness, and felt how entirely they depended upon him to follow the track they had made, one often so slight that they could not trace a sign on the short grass or hard ground. And as Norman said, if the black broke down again they might never be able to find their way home.But the black kept his seat on one or other of the horses very well for two days, and then they had to halt for a whole day, when it seemed as if they were going to have a repetition of the former anxiety. The morning after, though, he expressed a desire to go on, and as the boys packed up the half-dried canvas and blankets which had formed their cover during a night of heavy rain, they looked anxiously at each other, the same thought being in each breast, though neither of them could find it in his heart to speak.That thought was—suppose all our horses’ footprints are washed away?And now began a wonderful display of the black’s power of vision. As a rule he sat perfectly upright on horseback, took the lead, and rode on over tracts of land, where to the boys not a vestige of their trail was visible; though, when now and then they saw the black guide lean forward, grasp the horse’s neck with his arms, and place his head as low down as was possible, they felt that he too was evidently rather at fault.But no: by his wonderful perception he kept on picking up some tiny trace of a footprint, losing the trail altogether at times, finding it again when all seemed at an end and they had heard him muttering to himself. And so the journey went slowly on, till about noon on the fifth day, as Shanter was intently scanning the ground, he suddenly said:“Baal can’t go. Mine no see no more. Stop eat damper.”The horses were turned loose to graze, a fire lit, and as usual the water boiled for tea, just a sufficiency having been brought from the last spring in the tub slung to the packhorse’s side. But there was very little appetite for the cold kangaroo tail and cakebread, as they saw that the black did not eat, but began to beat the ground in all directions like a spaniel, till too weak to do more, when he came and threw himself down on the grass, and said: “Mine can’t find way back no more.”
It was long before sunrise when the boys rose to see after Shanter, expecting to find him still lying down, but he was up and over by the water-hole examining the huge kangaroo.
“Mine mumkull kangaroo,” he said, as the boys came up, and then, “Baal.”
“Didn’t you kill it, Shanter?” said Norman, smiling. “Baal. Who kill boomer? Big hole all along.” He pointed to the terrible wound in the animal’s head caused by the shots Tim had fired. And as the black spoke he examined the knob at the end of his nulla-nulla, comparing it with the wound, and shook his head.
“Baal make plenty sore place like dat. Go all along other side make hole. Baal.”
He stood shaking his head in a profound state of puzzledom as to how the wound came, while the boys enjoyed his confusion. Then all at once his face lit up.
“Bunyip mumkull boomer. All go bong.”
“You should say all go bong Tam. Why, can’t you see? Tim shot him while he was holding your head under water.”
“Eh? Marmi Tim shoot? What a pity!”
“Pity?” cried Rifle, staring at the black’s solemn face. “Pity that Tim saved your life.”
“Mine want mumkull big boomer.”
“Never mind: he’s dead,” cried Norman. “Now come along and let’s boil the billy, and make some damper and tea.”
“Mine don’t want big damper,” said Shanter, rubbing himself gently about the chest and ribs.
“What? Not want something to eat?”
“Baal, can’t eat,” replied the black. “Mine got sore all along. Dat boomer fellow squeezum.”
Norman laid his hand gently on the black’s side, wondering whether the poor fellow had a broken rib, when, with the most solemn of faces, Shanter uttered a loud squeak.
Norman snatched back his hand, but placed it directly after on the other side, when Shanter squeaked again more loudly; and at every touch, back or front, there was a loud cry, the black looking from one to the other in the most lugubrious way.
“Why, Shanter, you seem to be bad all over,” said Rifle.
“Yohi. Mine bad all along, plenty mine bad. Tam go bong.”
“Nonsense!” cried Norman. “Come and have a good breakfast. Plenty damper, plenty tea, and you’ll be better.”
“Baal damper—baal big tea,” said the black, rubbing himself. “Boomer mumkull Tam o’ Shanter. Mine go bong.”
He laid himself gently down on the grass, rolled a little and groaned, and then stretched himself out, and shut his eyes.
“Oh, it’s only his games,” said Rifle.—“Here, Shanter, old chap, jump up and say thanky, thanky to Marmi Tim for saving your life.”
“Marmi Tim baal save Tam o’ Shanter. All go along bong.”
“I’m afraid he is bad,” said Norman, going down on one knee to pass his hand over the poor fellow’s ribs, with the result that he uttered a prolonged moan; “but I don’t think there are any bones broken. Let’s get some breakfast ready. He’ll be better after some hot tea.”
They threw a pile of wood on the embers, in which a damper was soon baking; and as soon as the billy boiled, a handful of tea was thrown in and the tin lifted from the fire to stand and draw. But though they took Tam a well-sweetened pannikin of the refreshing drink he would not swallow it, neither would he partake of the pleasant smelling, freshly-baked cake.
“I say, I’m afraid the poor chap is bad,” whispered Tim.
“Not he,” said Rifle. “His ribs are sore with the hugging the boomer gave him, but he’s only shamming. I’ll rouse him up.”
He made a sign to Norman, who looked very anxious, and when the lads were a few yards away, Rifle made them a sign to watch their patient, who lay quite still with his eyes shut, and then suddenly shouted:
“Quick, boys, guns—guns! Black fellows coming.”
Shanter started up into a sitting position and tried to drag out his nulla-nulla, but his eyes closed again, and he fell back heavily.
Norman tried to catch him, but he was too late, and a glance showed that there was no deceit in the matter, for the drops of agony were standing on the black’s face, and it was quite evident that he had fainted away.
He soon came to, however, and lay gazing wonderingly about him.
“Black fellow?” he whispered anxiously, as if the effort caused him a great deal of pain.
“All gone along,” cried Rifle, eagerly; and the black closed his eyes again, while the boys consulted as to what they had better do.
“That’s soon settled,” said Norman. “We can’t fetch help to him, and he can’t move, so we must stop here till he gets better. Let’s cut some sticks and drive them in the ground, tie them together at the tops, and spread a couple of blankets over them.”
This was done so as to shelter their invalid from the sun, and then they saw to their own tent and prepared for a longer stay. After this Tim and Rifle went off to try to shoot something, and Norman stopped to watch the black.
It was a weary hot day, and the boys were so long that Norman began to grow anxious and full of imaginations. Suppose the lads got bushed! He would have to strike their trail and try to find them. Suppose poor Shanter were to die before they came back! How horrible to be alone with the dead out there in that solitary place.
The sun rose to its full height, and then began to descend, but the black neither moved nor spoke, and the only companionship Norman had was that of the two horses—his own and the one which carried the pack. These cropped the grass round about the camp, their hobble chains rattling a little, and the peculiar snort a horse gives in blowing insects out of the grass he eats were the principal sounds the boy heard. It was some comfort to walk to where they grazed and pat and talk to them.
But he was soon back by Shanter’s blanket-gunyah watching the shiny black face, which looked very hard and stern now. He had tried him again and again with tea, water, and bread, but there was no response; and at last he had settled down to letting him rest, hoping that his patient was asleep, and feeling that he could do nothing but leave him to nature.
But it was a sad vigil, and not made more pleasant by the sight of the great kangaroo lying just at the edge of the water-hole, and toward which a perfect stream of insects were already hurrying over the dry ground, while flies buzzed incessantly about it in the air. Then, too, again and again some great bird came circling round, but only to be kept at a distance by the sight of the watcher by the tents.
“Will they never come back!” cried Norman at last, quite aloud, and he started in alarm, for there was a loud discordant laugh close at hand.
He picked up a stone and threw it angrily into the ragged tree from whence the sound had come, and one of the great grotesque-looking kingfishers of the country flew off.
At last, after scanning the distant horizon for hours, seeing nothing but a few kangaroos which looked like black fellows in the distance, and a couple of emus stalking slowly across the plain, Norman could bear it no longer.
“Shanter,” he said; “must go and find Marmi Rifle and Marmi Tim. Do you hear? I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
But there was not so much as a twitch at the corners of the black’s lips, and the boy hesitated about leaving him. At last though he rose, caught and saddled his horse, gave one final look round, but could see nothing; and he was about to mount when a sudden thought occurred to him, and taking a couple of halters he knotted them together, hitched one over the kangaroo’s neck, and attached the other end to the saddle.
The horse jibbed and shied a little, but at last he made a plunge, and the dead animal was dragged into a hollow a couple of hundred yards away, so that there should be no fear of its contaminating the water-hole. Then the halters were cast off, thrown over the tent, and after a glance at Shanter, Norman mounted to take up the trail made by Rifle and Tim, but only leaped down again, and turned his horse out to graze; for there away in the distance were the two boys cantering gently toward the camp, and half an hour later they rode up, well supplied with clucks which they had shot right away upon a creek.
That night passed with one of them watching, and the next two days glided by in the same dreary way, Shanter lying as if unconscious, and nothing passed his lips.
“Father can’t be angry with us for not keeping to our time,” said Rifle, sadly. “Poor old Shanter, I wish I could do him some good.”
That night passed and still there was no change, and about mid-day the boys were dolefully examining their stock of provisions, which was getting very low; and it had been decided that they should watch that night and shoot anything which came to the water-hole to drink, though the animals likely so to do were neither many nor tempting for food to a European.
There was no choosing as to whom the duty should fall upon; for all decided to watch, and after seeing that Shanter lay unchanged, night had about waned, and they were gazing at the stars in silence, for fear of startling anything on its way to the pool, when just as they were feeling that the case was hopeless, and that they might as well give up, Norman suddenly touched Tim, who pressed his hand, for he too had heard the sound of some animal drinking.
They strained their eyes in the direction, but could see nothing, only the bushes which dotted the edge of the water-hole on its low side, the far end being composed of a wall of rocks going sheer down into the deep water.
What could it be? They had had no experience in such matters, and in the darkness there all was so strange and weird that sounds seemed to be different to what they would have been in the broad day.
But they wanted food, and there was some animal drinking, and though they supposed the country to be utterly devoid of deer, it still was possible that such creatures might exist, and it would be a new discovery if they shot an antelope or stag.
But the moments glided by, and the sound ceased without either of them being able to locate the position of the drinker. Their cocked guns were ready, and if they could have made out the slightest movement they would have fired; but there was the water gleaming with the reflection of a star here and there; there was the black mass where the rocks rose up, and that was all. They could not distinctly make out so much as a bush, and quite in despair at last, Norman was about to whisper a proposal that one of them should fire in the direction they fancied to be the most likely, while the others took their chance of a snap shot, when there was a noise straight before them, just at the edge of the water. Norman levelled his piece, took careful aim, and was about to draw trigger, when he distinctly caught sight of a moving figure a little beyond where he had heard the noise, and a voice grumbled out: “What gone along big boomer?”
“Shanter!” shouted Norman, excitedly. “Oh, I nearly fired.”
“Marmi,” said the black as the boys ran up trembling with the thought of the mistake they had nearly made, “Baal find big boomer.”
“No, no, it’s gone; but what are you doing here?”
“Mine have big drink. Go back sleep now.”
“But are you better?” said Rifle.
“Mine all sore along. Boomer fellow squeezum.”
He spoke rather faintly, and walked slowly as they went back to the blanket-gunyah, where the black lay down directly, uttering a deep groan, as he moved himself painfully.
“There was plenty of water here, Shanter,” said Norman.
“Piggi (the sun) gone sleep. Mine can’t see.”
They spoke to him again, but there was no reply, his breathing told, however, that he had dropped off, and Norman elected to keep watch till morning, and the others went to the tent.
It was just after daybreak when Norman heard a rustling, and looking round there was Tam creeping out from his shelter.
“Make big fire—make damper,” he said quietly, and to the lad’s delight the black went slowly about the task of blowing the embers, and getting a few leaves and twigs to burn before heaping up the abundant supply of wood close at hand.
Breakfast was soon ready, the boys being in the highest of glee, and Shanter sat and ate and smiled broadly at the friendly demonstrations which kept greeting him.
“Mine been along big sleep, get well,” he said in reply to the congratulations showered upon him, and then proved quite willing to sit still while the packhorse was loaded—lightly now—and the others caught, saddled, and bridled, and a glance round given before they made a start to follow the trail back home.
Then followed a little discussion as to the order of starting, but Shanter settled it by tucking his nulla-nulla and boomerang into his waistband, shouldering his spear, and starting off at the head of the packhorse which followed him like a dog.
“All right,” said Norman.
“Yes. What a rum fellow he is!” whispered Rifle. “But I wouldn’t go very far to-day.”
The boys mounted, and gave a cheer as they said farewell to the water-hole.
“It almost seems as if all this had been a dream,” said Tim, as they rode on behind the black. “You wouldn’t think he had been so bad.”
“Yes, you would,” cried Norman, urging his horse forward, as he saw Shanter make a snatch at the packhorse’s load, and then reel.
But Norman saved him, and the poor fellow looked at him piteously. “Big boomer squeeze mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “Legs baal walk along.”
That was very evident, for he was streaming with perspiration, and gladly drank some water from their tubs.
Then the difficulty was solved by Norman making Shanter mount the horse he had himself ridden, and the journey was continued with the black striding the saddle and holding on by the sides of the stirrup-irons with his toes, for he could not be induced to place his foot flat on the bar, which he declared to be plenty “prickenum,” and always placing his first and second toes on either side of the outer edge of the upright part of the stirrup.
The pleasure had gone out of the trip now. It had been full of hard work before, but it was labour mingled with excitement; now it was full of anxiety as the little party noted Shanter’s weakness, and felt how entirely they depended upon him to follow the track they had made, one often so slight that they could not trace a sign on the short grass or hard ground. And as Norman said, if the black broke down again they might never be able to find their way home.
But the black kept his seat on one or other of the horses very well for two days, and then they had to halt for a whole day, when it seemed as if they were going to have a repetition of the former anxiety. The morning after, though, he expressed a desire to go on, and as the boys packed up the half-dried canvas and blankets which had formed their cover during a night of heavy rain, they looked anxiously at each other, the same thought being in each breast, though neither of them could find it in his heart to speak.
That thought was—suppose all our horses’ footprints are washed away?
And now began a wonderful display of the black’s power of vision. As a rule he sat perfectly upright on horseback, took the lead, and rode on over tracts of land, where to the boys not a vestige of their trail was visible; though, when now and then they saw the black guide lean forward, grasp the horse’s neck with his arms, and place his head as low down as was possible, they felt that he too was evidently rather at fault.
But no: by his wonderful perception he kept on picking up some tiny trace of a footprint, losing the trail altogether at times, finding it again when all seemed at an end and they had heard him muttering to himself. And so the journey went slowly on, till about noon on the fifth day, as Shanter was intently scanning the ground, he suddenly said:
“Baal can’t go. Mine no see no more. Stop eat damper.”
The horses were turned loose to graze, a fire lit, and as usual the water boiled for tea, just a sufficiency having been brought from the last spring in the tub slung to the packhorse’s side. But there was very little appetite for the cold kangaroo tail and cakebread, as they saw that the black did not eat, but began to beat the ground in all directions like a spaniel, till too weak to do more, when he came and threw himself down on the grass, and said: “Mine can’t find way back no more.”