The Dingo Boys Part 31

"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 quant.i.ty, 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 st.u.r.dy 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 gra.s.s 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 ash.o.r.e.

"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 k.n.o.b 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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.s 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."