“That shall go to my brother, some day,” said Mat, as he thanked the man; and one pack-horse was told off to carry the monster south.
“They won’t believe it, Tom,” said our forester; “unless I carry it home; at least the one who’s going to print my book won’t.”
When the white men turned their faces homewards the chief and his whole tribe accompanied them as far as the boundaries of the Waigonda country, then the black men silently sat down to view them over the next hill, and when Mat turned round for a last wave of the hand he saw his old chief with his arm round Terebare, seated on a stone, the attitude of despair.
The tears rose in his eyes as he witnessed this spectacle, which Tom observing, said soothingly,—
“Never mind, old man, you might see them again, some day.”
“Yes, in heaven, I hope,” responded our forester in a choking voice, as he turned his face southwards.
But at nightfall, when they camped, Mat was himself again, and could talk of nothing but Bulinda Creek, and the delights of that distant station. He was further cheered that evening by the arrival of a young black fellow whom the chief had sent, as the youngster wished to go to the white man’s home with Mat; he proved to be a valuable addition to the party as a scout, and our hero was pleased to have him as a connecting link with his old tribe of the Waigonda.
CHAPTER XIX.
Bulinda Creek once more—Mat again asks Tabor’s advice—The parson “on matrimony”—Annie’s little arbour.
Many weeks again passed over, and once again the travellers reined up at Bulinda Creek, travel-stained and weary, but otherwise as well as when they had quitted that station.