When the brothers returned to Dromoora they found that chief lying on the ground, surrounded by Terebare and her maidens, who had not joined in the pursuit.
These were weeping and wailing, supposing him to be dead; but Tim brought a gourd of water and poured it over his face and head. This act aroused Terebare, and she quickly procured some young shoots of the rough-leaved fig, then making poultices of the milky juice, applied them to her lord’s wounds.
“I knew he warn’t dead,” said Tim; as, after the lapse of a few minutes, the wounded man commenced to breathe heavily. “But I expect they’d ’av gone on howling till he was, unless we’d flung the water over ’im.”
The brothers then helped to place the chief in a little arbour of boughs, which was erected for him, and left him there in the hands of his wife.
The whole of that night were the Waigonda lamenting their dead, the howls of the jins being specially erie and dismal.
It was noticed with surprise by the brothers that, notwithstanding the length of time that the fight had lasted, and the numerous crushing blows given, they could not find more than a score bodies on the battlefield; but it was explained to them that many of the Tinguras, stricken down apparently to death, had so far recovered that they had crawled away, most probably to die later on; and, besides this, that many more of the enemy had been clubbed to death by the Waigondas, when caught in the nets.
Next day the natives proceeded to burn their own dead, reserving the body of a youth for a feast. After the bodies were burnt, the ashes were tied up in pieces of bark and put carefully away; whilst portions of the defunct Tinguras were divided into thin strips and portioned out amongst the tribe, Mat and Tim each receiving a share of the two blacks who had fallen to their gun.
As they were supposed to receive these relics with great pride and solemnity, they wrapt them up with extreme care and gravity in the presence of the black, and, as carefully, a few days afterwards, left them within reach of the dingoes or wild dogs.
This is how it happened that Jumper appeared so opportunely on the scene of battle.
Before the fight commenced he had been tied up, but fancying, no doubt, that his masters were in distress during the uproar which ensued, he had bitten through the cord, or rather vine, which held him, had made his way to Tim, whose voice he heard, and had fastened on the very black who had struck him a day or two previously, when guarding his master’s gun.