"That sounds nice," I commented, at which he began again.
"Aye an' it's vera dirty watter. It's the last in the bag, an' there's tadpoles an' wee crocodiles swimmin' in't, an——"
"Hold hard, Stewart," said Phil, while Mac was groping about for something substantial to throw at his comrade's head. "Hold hard, you grinning gorilla, and let us discover the mysterious ingredients of our humble fare for ourselves."
"There's an auld saying," Mac grunted complacently, "that what the eye disna see the hert disna grieve fur. If ye'll tak' ma advice, ye'll dine awa' back frae the firelicht." And we took his advice without demur.
We kept a watch that night for the first time during many weeks. The reputation of the Northern Australian natives was not such as inspired confidence in me. I had a wholesome dread of being speared while asleep, and these hostile savages were known to make their attacks invariably after the sun had set, when their tired victims were probably slumbering, unaware of the presence of danger.
Mac volunteered for the first spell of duty, and as a preliminary he carefully drew the small shot charges from his cherished elephant-gun, and replaced them with ominous-looking buckshot cartridges.
"This shid dae mair than tickle them," he grimly remarked, looking at us as we lay stretched upon our sandy couches, and his face, lit up by the ruddy glare of the fire, assumed an unusually malevolent expression.
"You've got to remember, Mac," Phil warned, "that the beggars are probably cannibals, and as you are the fattest of the party, the natural sequence is——"
"Say nae mair," our wary guardian interrupted with a deprecatory wave of his hand, "Spare yer in-seen-uashuns. There's nae nigger'll get near while I'm daein' sentry go, bit at the worst the black deevils wud never bile me when they could get guid tender golologist." With which dark statement he shouldered his gun and commenced to execute what looked like a solemn ghost dance around the boundary of our camp fire's illumination.