A Friend and a Foe
Boss Stobart had had too much experience with blacks to think that he
was safe. He had escaped instant death and seemed to have gained some
sort of control over those savage minds, but he knew that at any time
the long quivering spears, which had just been lowered at his command,
might be hurled at him and bury their poisonous heads in his body. So
he continued to sit on his horse and look steadily at the naked savages.
When they had got over their surprise, both at the white man having
power to turn aside a boomerang--as they thought--and at his saving the
life of his enemy, they began to yabber and gesticulate. They pointed
to the seven dead men and then at Stobart with fear in their faces;
they looked round at the slaughtered cattle and wondered what revenge
this supernatural man would take; the sound and smell of cooking meat
grew very tantalizing, but they did not dare to continue the feast till
the white man made some sign of anger or pleasure.
The drover did not turn his head. There were those in the crowd who
had not come under the spell of his authority, and he knew it;
therefore he kept on facing them. He looked steadily at one man in
particular; a tall, well-proportioned native with a commanding head and
features. Through the septum of the man's nose a little bundle of thin
bones had been thrust, and this, together with a particular design
painted on his chest, proclaimed him to be a man of power, the doctor
of the tribe. He regarded Stobart with a scowl of hatred, and went
about amongst his companions telling them that there was no difference
between this white man and other men of his colour, and that he would
be as easy to kill as the poor sick Irishman who was now lying so
quietly in the sand. The natives, however, did not know what to do.
Stobart's life hung by a thread.
This state of uncertainty was suddenly cut short by a native appearing
on the top of the hill immediately behind Stobart. He had been running
and had hardly breath enough to shout the news to the men below. He
had seen Yarloo and the little mob of cattle. Most of the blacks at
once ran up the hill and looked back in the direction where he was
pointing. The native doctor and the man with the mutilated left hand
were amongst those who stayed near the fire, and Stobart felt sure that
the man whom he had saved was there on purpose to see that his rescuer
came to no harm.
After a great deal of noise and waving of arms and stamping of feet,
the party on the hill disappeared down the other side, and presently
some cattle came straggling over the top and ran down to the water-hole
for a drink. Yarloo followed, escorted by the blacks who had gone out
to meet him. He had evidently established friendly relations with his
fellow-tribesmen, for they were all laughing and talking excitedly, and
already one or two of them were adorned with articles of Yarloo's
clothing which he had given them. The much-envied recipients of these
gifts were probably relations or members of the same totem, and the
wise boy had made the most of his opportunities for showing goodwill,
for his master's sake.
Yarloo was evidently very much relieved to find Boss Stobart safe. He
went up to the drover and showed so plainly that the white man was his
honoured friend, that the other natives at once changed their attitude,
and gave every sign of favour to the man whom they had so recently
wanted to kill.
Stobart was invited to join the feast. His own tucker-packs had not
been interfered with, for the blacks had started to cut up and eat meat
as soon as the slaughter was over; so to the only item on the primitive
menu he added a few tins of jam and treacle, a bottle or two of tomato
sauce, and all the damper which was left. Afterwards, when all had
gorged themselves to their fullest capacity, he handed round small
plugs of tobacco, which the men accepted eagerly and started to chew at
once. The doctor kept aloof from these proceedings and would not touch
the white man's food or tobacco, so Stobart gave the man whom he had
rescued from death a double share, and thereby cemented a friendship
which he thought might be useful in the future.
Feasting went on into the night and did not stop till the morning star
was rising. Everybody crawled under bushes and stunted trees and went
to sleep. Now was Stobart's chance. He signed to Yarloo. The
faithful boy had not followed his natural desires to eat as fully as
his fellow-tribesmen had done, but had kept himself ready for any
emergency which might occur.
"We go 'way now, Yarloo, I think," whispered Stobart. "Which way
horses go?"
The boy pointed in a certain direction. "Me go find um nantu (horses),
boss," he said. "Me tie um up 'nother side sand-hill. By'm-by sun
come up, black-fella sleep, aller same dead; sleep like blazes. You
bring um two fella saddle 'nother side sand-hill. Little bit tucker.
We clear out. Me know um this country." He looked round at the naked
blacks, all smeared with blood and grease and dirt, and snoring in
profound sleep, and laughed quietly. "Silly fella," he remarked. "All
about sleep long time. My word, too much long time."
Soon afterwards Yarloo went off on the tracks of the horses, which he
had had the forethought to hobble before letting them go the previous
afternoon, and when Stobart was quite sure that everybody was soundly
sleeping, he went over to the packs, stuffed his pockets with tucker,
and carried his own and Yarloo's saddles out of sight over the
sand-hill. He returned for his rifle and water-bag, for he did not
know whether their lives might not depend on one or the other of these.
He did not dare to stay away too long from the sleeping blacks, for
fear that one of them should wake and notice that he had gone, so he
returned and lay down under a tree and waited for Yarloo.
It was nearly noon when the boy returned, and the expression on his
face clearly indicated disaster.
"Nantu dead," he announced sorrowfully.
"Dead?" exclaimed Stobart. "What, all of them?"
"Yah. All about."
The drover was too much amazed to ask any more questions for a time.
The blacks had certainly made a thorough work of their first slaughter,
but surely they had not killed the two horses which had been let go
since friendly relations were established. He looked so perplexed that
the boy started to explain.
"Nantu killed aller same cattle," he said.
"Yes, but what about Billy and Ginger?" asked the white man. (These
were the horses Stobart and Yarloo had ridden the previous day.)
"Dead," said Yarloo emphatically. "Me bin see um."
"How? Speared?" asked Stobart.
The native looked round stealthily as if afraid of being heard. Then
he lowered his voice and whispered: "Neh. Nantu no bin speared.
Throat bin cut this way." He poked his finger into his neck at the
side of the gullet and made a cutting movement.
There was only one man in the tribe who would have done the killing in
that way, and Stobart asked: "Doctor-man, eh?"
Yarloo looked again. The drover had never seen the boy look so
startled. Then he pointed to his nose and indicated the decoration of
the native doctor, and to his chest and drew the distinguishing marks
of his calling, and nodded. He did not dare to speak. The man with
the bunch of bones stuck through his nose, the man who had tried his
best to stir up his companions to kill Stobart and had persistently
repulsed all overtures of friendship, this man had tracked up the two
horses in the night and had cut their throats. The white man was his
enemy; he must not be allowed to escape, for he would sooner or later
be put to death. Stobart knew that he had a powerful foe.
The drover had succeeded in making a friend of the man with the
mutilated left hand, but had not been able to overcome the hatred of
the most influential man in the tribe.
The upshot of the adventure was that Boss Stobart was forced to
accompany the tribe of Musgrave warraguls back to their mountain
fastnesses. In the ranges he found fertile valleys watered with
permanent springs, game and birds in abundance, and many indications of
the gold which so many daring prospectors had sought for at the price
of their lives.