“Yes, mother dear,” said Janet. “Hil is quite right. There’s nothing to mind.”
“But he said the blacks were going to attack the waggon, my dear,” cried Mrs Braydon anxiously. “We had better send over to Mr Dillon for a party to go and meet them.”
“Oh, nonsense, mother!” said Hilda, giving her dark brown curls a toss; “father would laugh at the idea. He’ll fire a few shots over their heads and send them scrambling away.”
“Yes, of course,” said Janet calmly enough. “Mamma is a little nervous sometimes, Nic. We don’t mind a few blackfellows about here. They are only like big children.”
“But what ought I to do?” cried Nic anxiously. “Shall I ride somewhere and get help?”
“Perhaps it is not necessary,” said Mrs Braydon, smiling rather piteously. “The girls are right. But, my dear boy, how did you find your way?”
“Father pointed out that gap in the mountain over there, and told me to ride straight for it.”
“What place was it where you left your father?”
Nic described it as well as he was able.
“I know: it must be the third water-hole from here; five-and-thirty miles away.”