“The same, sorr.”
“That’ll do, sergeant.” The energetic non-commissioned officer salutes and withdraws, and Puttis turns towards the local chief.
“Say, Bigger, have you got that western ‘boy’ you lent me once? What was his name? Oh! Tomahawk. Got him still?”
“No, accidentally shot. Very sorry to lose him, for he was a good ‘boy.’ He knew every nigger’s tracks for fifty miles round. No, I lent him to Versley, and you know what Versley is. Tomahawk gave him a piece of cheek, and—and he was accidentally shot.”
“Ah! that’s a pity. Fact is, I want a ‘boy’ who knows the western lingo. Also knows scrub. Got one?”
“Yes; Teapot’s a good ‘boy.’”
“I want to get hold of that educated nigger that Dyesart had with him when he died. Giles heard him telling other niggers. Had killed Dyesart. Have got warrant to arrest him. Served Dyesart right though. Educating a cursed nigger.”
“Oh, you mean that fellow Billy. Why, I thought he brought a letter or something to Murdaro from Dyesart. Should not be surprised if the nigger wrote it himself though. Those civilized blacks are up to anything.”
“He was at Murdaro,” remarks Inspector Puttis, “but he made himself scarce.” He might have added, for he knew it to be a fact, that Billy had only made himself “scarce” because he had very good reasons for believing that Mr. Wilson Giles intended to make him altogether “extinct,”—the reason for that worthy gentleman’s inhospitable behaviour being explained and set forth hereafter for the benefit of our readers.
“Shouldn’t be surprised if he was at the Mission Station,” observes Inspector Bigger, after a short pause for reflection. “If so, I can get him for you. I’ve got a little gin (girl) that will fetch him, if he’s to be fetched out of the sanctuary where all these rascals go to.” After another pause, and a “peg” at the volatile fluid on the table, the speaker continues musingly,—