Next evening the brothers were engaged a few yards from their sleeping-quarters, when a black fellow took the opportunity to steal up, with the intention of taking the gun, which was lying under their ’possum rug, not having the respect for that weapon which the Waigondas had, but coveting it on account of the beautiful engravings upon the locks. Jumper had always considered the weapon as under his especial charge, and no sooner had the black stretched out his arm to take it than his wrist was seized in the dog’s powerful grip.
Howling and yelling, the native tried to shake off the dog, but Jumper, who owed more than one grudge for insults put upon him by black skins, took this opportunity to make his teeth meet in the bony wrist, nor would he let go, until another black fellow, coming to the rescue, hit him a violent blow on the head with his club.
Mat and Tim hurrying up at the uproar which ensued, found their faithful dog lying half stunned and bleeding on the ground, whilst the blacks were “jabbering” together in angry knots about the camp, casting fierce glances towards them, and handling their weapons in a menacing manner.
Before he appeared in view Mat distinctly caught the words, “Kill all three.”
Upon seeing that the white men were calmly sitting down with their gun, the natives, who had heard some rumours of the death-dealing powers of the “Teegoora,” appeared to quiet down, and retired in a body, discussing matters in an undertone.
But the brothers had lived long enough amongst these tribes to know them and their ways, and turning to his brother, Mat said, in a quiet tone, “They mean murder to-night.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” was Tim’s reply, as he attended to the dog’s wound. “We’ll clear out.”
So directly it was dark enough to slip away unobserved, the brothers, carrying gun and Jumper, glided silently out of the camp, and, taking a “bee line” for the Waigonda country, never paused from a long, slinging trot, until they drew up at midnight at a water-hole.
“It’s something to know how to work yer way in the dark,” said Mat, as he put down the dog.
The fact was that the brothers were as good bushmen as the blacks, and in one respect even better, in that they were accustomed to travel at night whenever there was any reason to do so, whereas the blacks had a great horror of moving after dark.