“Hoo!” shouted the black, leaping from the ground, and then bursting out with a strange noise something between a rapid repetition of the word wallah and the gobbling of a turkey-cock; and then seeing that the boys laughed he repeated the performance, waved his clumsy spear over his head, and made a dash at the bullocks, prodding them in the ribs, administering a poke or two to the horses, and sending them off at a gallop toward the port.
“No, no, no, stop him!” cried the captain; and the three boys rushed off after the black, who stopped for them to overtake him.
“What a matter—what a matter?” he said coolly, as they caught and secured him.
“Mind he don’t come off black, Tim,” cried Norman.
“Black? All black,” cried the Australian. “White, all white. Not white many.”
“That’s not the way to drive cattle,” cried the young doctor, as he came up with the captain.
“Not give tickpence drive bullockum?”
“Yes, if you are careful. Go slowly.”
“Go slowly.”
“No. Bullockum ’top eat grass. Never get along.”