By early morning the trail brought him to another water-hole—evidently these small lakes were well known to the man he was pursuing—he perceived here that the rider had dismounted to get a drink, and he also saw that there were a few spots of blood on the grass, as he sat down, for the first time that he had done so, to roast and eat some “unios,” a sort of shell-fish, which he found in the water.
Though burning for revenge on a wretch who dared to touch the girl who was ever uppermost in his thoughts, and whilst horrible doubts arose in his mind as to her possible fate, there was a very large amount of savage or wild feeling in all Mat’s plans since he started on this race, which gave him an intense pleasure: so perfect had been his training in the Waigonda country, that in his mind he ridiculed the idea of any white man or men being his match as long as he employed his native tactics. In fine, from the moment that he took up the trail, he dropped the white man, and became once more the Waigonda warrior.
After a rather long rest, Mat once more resumed the trail, again following it all night, and the next morning to his relief found that he was gaining on his quarry, for the bushranger’s horse, having to bear a double load, had been walking for several miles.
Our forester then had another rest, to roast and eat a carpet snake which he had killed, and smoke a pipe.
Off again, he crossed a rocky creek, and from there the tracks entered a dry stony country and trended towards the east. On this particular part of the country the footprints of the horse were not discernible to the ordinary eye. Mat smiled, as he quickly stepped over this hard ground, and said to himself, “The fool thought, I suppose, that his tracks would now be lost.” Farther on Magan had again dismounted to get water, and here a little matter was cleared up which had puzzled our forester, namely, how had the horse been fed all this time? by bread, for by this water-hole was a small hollow full of crumbs, distinctly showing to Mat’s eye that the animal had there crunched up a loaf.
One invariable habit of a native black is to cast his eyes all round into the branches of the trees, so it was with Mat—a habit which he never lost, and as he passed his eyes across a mimosa-tree which over-shadowed the pond, he saw something which made his heart beat wildly with delight. For there hung a small shred of muslin. Now he knew that Annie was well enough to leave a little signal, hanging it up whilst sitting on the horse’s back.
With redoubled efforts he started on again, when, upon ascending some high ground, there lay the ocean before him,—the Pacific Ocean, which formed a silvery horizon in the distance.
“Going to get away in a boat,” muttered Mat, as he spurted along the trail.
But in this surmise he was mistaken. Magan knew better than to trust to the sea as a means of escape. Besides, his villainous schemes tended in another direction altogether.
Our forester soon again considered it prudent to “slow down,” as certain signs showed him that the man he was pursuing could not be far off. On rounding the corner of a hill, he found himself over a broad and steep creek, which was covered on its banks with dense stunted scrub.