Edgar Foster, after six months’ experience on Yanda Station, liked the
life very much. He was popular with the hands, and Ben Brody had taken
to him in a manner that caused men to marvel. It was seldom Brody made
a chum of anyone, but he had done so of Edgar, who was young enough to
be his son.
It was an intense relief to Edgar when he received letters from his
father and sister. They were letters such as might have been expected
from them, and the way in which they referred to the terrible loss
of the _Distant Shore_ brought tears into Edgar’s eyes. His father
enclosed him a draft, and said he was proud of his son, and knew he had
risked his life to save Captain Manton’s child. Inquiries had been made
in every direction, but no relations had been found to claim little
Eva. Captain Manton had not saved much money, and what he had was in
the hands of the shipping company to which the _Distant Shore_ belonged.
Robert Foster wrote that he had consulted the chairman of the company,
and it had been arranged that if no relation claimed Eva she was to
remain in charge of Wal Jessop and his wife, and a sum of money would
be paid annually to them. In concluding his letter Robert Foster gave
his son good advice, telling him to go on as he had commenced, and to
brave dangers if by doing so he could help others.
Doris Foster wrote Edgar a loving letter, in which she gave him the
news that Will Brown had sailed for Australia, and also that she had
heard Raymond Rakes had turned out badly, and been sent to sea:
‘Will has promised to try and make a small fortune in Australia,’ she
wrote, ‘and when he has done so he is to return to England and ask me
a certain question which I leave you to guess. Please do not tell him,
if you see him, that under any circumstances the answer will be “Yes.”
It might make him lazy if he knew the capture was certain. You are a
dear, noble, brave brother, and we are very proud of you. I am posting
you a _Graphic_. You will see therein a portrait of a certain young
fellow who is styled “The _Distant Shore_ Hero,” which is no more than
he deserves. Give little Eva a lot of kisses from me. I long to see the
child you saved so splendidly. I am sure Wal Jessop must be a grand
man, and his wife a dear, good woman. Please do not marry a black lady,
and come home as civilized as when you left.’
Edgar read these letters again and again until Ben Brody said:
‘You are a lucky beggar to have such interesting letters. Those I get
are never worth reading twice. They’re mostly about sheep, and the
price of wool, and you cannot knock much romance out of those articles.’
Before he had been at Yanda a month, Edgar had shown them how he could
bat, and also use his fists; and, much to Will Henton’s surprise, he
had found his match with the gloves on.
‘You’re a hard hitter,’ he said to Edgar; ‘no wonder you made Bully
Rakes sing small.’
Edgar related many tales about his schooldays, and worked the hands up
to a pitch of enthusiasm over the celebrated match with Fairfield.
‘Blest if I don’t feel as though I’d seen it!’ said Ben Brody.
‘Good yarn!’ exclaimed Jim Lee, the silent one.
‘What a brute that Rakes must be,’ said Will Henton. ‘Fancy a fellow
going against his own side. You say he’s gone to sea? I hope he won’t
come over here; we want none of his sort.’
‘I’d like to meet Will Brown,’ said Ben Brody. ‘Suppose you ask him to
come up here and try his luck? He’ll not make a fortune very quick, but
it will keep him out of mischief.’
‘I’ll write to his ship in Sydney when she arrives, and ask him,’ said
Edgar; ‘I think it would just suit him.’
‘We can always find room for an extra hand or two on Yanda,’ said
Brody, with a wink, ‘provided they’re the right sort.’
‘You’ll find Will all right,’ said Edgar.
‘If he comes up to your standard he’ll do,’ replied Brody.
There was not much variety in the life at Yanda, but it was new to
Edgar, and he found much to interest him. He had the usual experience
with a buck-jumper, and felt the peculiar sensation of being hurled
into the air, with no certainty as to where he would come down. This is
how Edgar described his first throw from a buck-jumper to his father:
‘You suddenly feel his back arch, and it nearly cuts you in two.
Then you discover he has all four legs off the ground at the same
time. Finally you are shot into space, much in the same way as you
would go if a gigantic catapult propelled you. The sensation is not
pleasant, and the knowledge that all your mates are enjoying the
undignified manner in which you are unseated adds to the general
discomfiture. However, I am a fair rough-rider now, although there’s
one horse--“Brody’s buck-jumper,” he’s called--I cannot tackle, and no
other man on the place with the exception of Brody himself. There’s a
history attached to this animal which you may hear some day. Brody once
got him into a horse-box, I believe, and the passengers on the train
sent a deputation to the guard at the first stopping-place to have
the horse removed. Someone suggested the animal ought to be shot, but
Brody’s wrath was so great when he heard this that no further mention
was made of it. Anyhow, Brody’s buck-jumper had his own way, as he
always has, for the remainder of the journey.’
Yacka the black had taken to Edgar Foster from the moment he took his
hand, and during the six months that had passed he was constantly about
the homestead asking what he could do for him.
‘Bless me if I don’t think you’ll civilize Yacka in time!’ said Brody.
‘I never knew him come round here so much before. It’s all that
handshake did it.’
‘He’s a good fellow, although he is black,’ said Edgar. ‘I’m very fond
of Yacka, but I cannot quite make him out. He seems to have something
on his mind. I hope he has done nothing very dreadful.’
‘You never know what these black fellows are up to,’ said Brody; ‘but I
do not think Yacka is deceitful. Revengeful they all are, and if anyone
harmed Yacka or others belonging to him, I believe he would make it
particularly warm for him.’
Yacka followed Edgar about with dog-like devotion, and never tired of
doing odd jobs for him. Edgar watched the black carve wonderful scenes
on emu eggs, and it was extraordinary the faithfulness with which he
depicted birds and beasts on these brittle shells.
After taking particular care to carve one egg, Yacka, with a look of
fear in his eyes, handed it to Edgar.
‘Why, it’s a cave surrounded by rocks and shrubs,’ said Edgar. ‘Where
did you see it? There is nothing at all like that about here.’
‘No,’ said Yacka, ‘long way off. Tramp, tramp, for miles. Lonely desert
where no white man ever been--wonderful place. Like to see it?’
The black spoke eagerly, and Edgar saw there was something he had left
hidden, which he did not care for him to know.
‘It would be no good going such a long journey, Yacka,’ he replied,
‘because there are no people, and what is to be found when we get
there? We might starve on the way, or die from want of water.’
‘Plenty water,’ said Yacka. ‘I know the track; no one else knows it.
There!’ he exclaimed, as he smashed the emu egg he had been at so much
trouble to carve, ‘no one find it now, not even you.’
‘I should remember the place if I saw it,’ said Edgar. ‘You carve so
well, and I am sure what you carved on that egg is true to Nature.’
‘Come with Yacka, and I will show you much,’ said the black. ‘Make you
rich--richer than Master Fife, richer than your Queen; but you must go
alone with Yacka.’
The black spoke earnestly, and his eyes glistened.
‘I don’t see much chance of making a fortune or finding riches in a
desert,’ said Edgar. ‘Where is this wonderful cave that contains so
much wealth?’
‘Many miles,’ said Yacka; ‘over Great Desert in Northern Territory. It
is not all sand. No white man has been there; but Yacka has, and knows
there is grass and water, and food, plenty food.’
‘Are you certain no white man has ever been there?’ asked Edgar.
Yacka hesitated a few moments, and then said:
‘No white _man_.’
‘And no white woman?’ laughed Edgar, who noticed the stress Yacka laid
on man.
Yacka sprang to his feet, and waved his arms about wildly.
‘Come and see!’ he cried. ‘Come to the White Spirit’s Cave! I am the
son of Enooma!’
The last word he said in a soft, liquid tone, far different from his
usual rather harsh mode of speech; and he lingered over the name with
evident fondness.
Edgar became interested, and the spirit of adventure began to stir
within him.
‘Who is Enooma?’ he asked, endeavouring to speak the word as Yacka
pronounced it.
‘The White Spirit of the Great Desert,’ said Yacka, in a solemn voice.
‘She rests in the cave in the land I came from. She is beautiful and
white as clouds; and I am black as the thunder-makers--and her son.’
‘How can that be?’ asked Edgar. ‘Yacka must be mistaken; he cannot be
the son of Enooma the White Spirit. How can I trust him if he deceives
me?’
The black looked round, and, seeing no one about, said:
‘Yacka speaks true, else how would he know the cave where no white man
has been?’
‘Suppose I promise to go with you to the cave,’ said Edgar, ‘how would
it be possible for us to go alone?’
‘We have guns,’ said Yacka, relapsing into ordinary speech, ‘and there
is much to shoot where I go. We follow tracks through big white man’s
country, and cross rivers. I came from there, and can return. Yacka
knows a track once he has followed it.’
‘Give me time to think it over,’ said Edgar. ‘I trust you, Yacka, but
I have others to think about. I have a good sister, and a kind father,
in far-away England, and there will be dangers to encounter on our
journey.’
‘Yes,’ assented Yacka, ‘dangers, but we shall not die. The White
Spirit will watch over us when she knows we are coming towards her.
Enooma rests and waits for us. Speak no words to them,’ he added, and
pointed towards the homestead.
‘All you have told me I promise to hold sacred,’ said Edgar.
‘It is good,’ said Yacka, and calmly commenced to carve a snake on one
of the boomerangs, which he picked up from the ground where he had
thrown them.
Edgar Foster felt he was about to embark upon strange adventures. He
knew Yacka was no ordinary black, and Ben Brody had said he believed
Yacka had white blood in his veins. Who could this White Spirit Enooma
be, whom Yacka called his mother? Could it be possible a white woman
had penetrated to the unknown parts of the Northern Territory? If so,
how had she reached there? and how could it be that Yacka the black was
her son? Probably it was some superstition Yacka had inherited from his
tribe.
Edgar pondered over the story of riches Yacka had related. Gold was dug
out of the earth in most unlikely places. Barren wastes had been found
to teem with the precious metal. The possibilities of the country Edgar
felt were not yet known, and in a new and unexplored part of the vast
land he was now in what might not happen? He knew he could trust Yacka,
but he would have preferred to take a mate with him. Will Brown would
be just the one, and if he could persuade Yacka to take Will along
with them it would be glorious. He thought over the excuses he could
make to Captain Fife and Ben Brody for leaving Yanda. If he stated he
was prompted by a love of adventure they would believe him, and it
would be the truth. There would be no difficulty in getting away, and
no time for returning need be named.
Eagerly Edgar awaited the arrival of Will Brown in order to give Yacka
a chance of making friends with him.