Our Waigonda chief had been out hunting the whole of the previous day, in a vain endeavour to shoot a turkey for Mrs. Bell. These birds had been much disturbed of late, and in consequence had sought more distant plains, too far for Dromoora to pursue them, as he had promised Mat to sleep at the station always during his absence. So the chief had come in late at night tired with his tramp, and from carrying a number of ducks, which he had procured without difficulty on the numerous lagoons near the station. He and his wife were camped within two hundred yards of the house in their usual place, when Terebare woke him up, saying, “Quick to the station.” She had heard several shrieks which Mrs. Bell had given vent to after she had fallen on the burglar. Dromoora seeing that the case was urgent, left his gun, which he had no time to load, and with spears and a club rushed into the darkness, and encountered Magan as we have seen.
When he saw that Mike had escaped him also, he turned to Terebare, who had followed him out of their camp with fresh weapons, and pointing in the direction of the out-station, said, “Quick, run all the way; there are no white men here, bring the white chief and his friends.”
He then jumped on to the verandah, and hearing a moaning noise proceeding from the house, struck a match, and, guided by the sound, walked into the squire’s bedroom, when an extraordinary scene presented itself to his gaze.
Amidst a quantity of overturned furniture and medicine-bottles, lit up by the feeble glimmer of an expiring night-light, lay a man as white as death, enveloped in a mosquito-net, struggling for breath, which came in convulsive gasps from his foam-bedewed lips, whilst his face appeared to be smeared over with a brown liquid: near him, and supported by the legs of the bedstead, lay Mrs. Bell in a kind of stupor. Remembering how water had brought him to in the great fight with the Tingura, our chief, casting his eyes around, to his great joy espied a large bath full of water; and intending to empty the whole of the contents over Mrs. Bell, commenced the operation by pouring a gallon or two on to her head. The effect was surprising; for his patient immediately sprang to her feet, asking wildly where she was, and what had happened. Paying no attention to these questions, as he saw that she was not hurt, Dromoora next approached the partly insensible prisoner, and whilst playfully toying with the edge of his long knife, asked permission to cut the throat of the white man. But Mrs. Bell, with a horrified look, cried, “Oh, no, no.”
Finding that this pleasure was denied him, the chief proceeded to tie the legs and arms of the prisoner together with the bed-clothes, making all fast to the leg of the bed.
Then turning again to Mrs. Bell, he said,—
“Missy gone along a ‘yarraman’ and white fellow.”
“What horse! what white fellow?” she shrieked. “What! Annie carried off, do you mean?”
Our chief was beginning to explain matters, and to describe the late fight with great zest, when Mrs. Bell interrupted him with,—
“Don’t ‘yabber’ any more; oh! if the others were only home.”