But this paradise of a country had two drawbacks, one of which was that the river swarmed with crocodiles, and the scrubs were full of stinging trees.
This gigantic nettle was well known to our party, and therefore they never came into contact with it, but its pungent smell and handsome blossom seemed to pervade every scrub; and as Jumper had a narrow escape from the jaws of a crocodile, the travellers found themselves rather disappointed with the district on the third day of their sojourn, and so decided to continue their journey southwards.
Three months had they thus crawled through the bush, when one day, trudging along through a sandy scrub, they descried two natives digging yams on the plain beyond.
“You hide here whilst I go and talk to them,” said Dromoora, and the next moment he and Terebare were off to interview the strangers.
They were away an unusually long time, and returned at length bearing an emu, which the chief had stalked and speared.
Throwing down the bird, he informed his companions that the two strange natives belonged to a tribe lying far to the west, and that, as far as he could understand their language, he understood them to say, that white men were camped a day’s journey to the west, men who use thunder, and killed ducks with it.
“Then,” exclaimed Mat, “let us first have a feast of emu, and then be off west also, as soon as possible.”
However, by the time they had finished their repast, the day had worn to its close; and Tim feeling twinges of rheumatism again, the little party decided to camp where they were.
When they looked out next day, they saw several more strange natives on the plain, so that in going west they had to make a considerable détour to avoid them.
That evening they came on the tracks of unshod horses, as Mat joyfully pointed out, telling his dark friends at the same time that when the white man’s camp was reached, they must stay behind, and that Tim had better remain with them, as he was still a bit leg-weary.