Then picking up the second weapon, he threw it so that it flew skimming along through the air close to the ground for a considerable distance, curved upward, returned over the same ground, but high up, and fell not far from the thrower’s feet.
“Budgery,” cried Shanter, regaining his weapon, and laughing with childish delight.
“Here, let’s have a try,” said Norman, seizing the boomerang—literally boomer or kangaroo stick—and imitating the black’s actions, he threw it, but with such lamentable want of success, that his brother and cousin roared with laughter, and the black grinned his delight.
“Here, I’ll show you,” cried Rifle; but he turned round hurriedly, for there was a loud hail from a distance, and in obedience to a signal they all hurried to where the captain stood with Uncle Jack, both coming now toward them, and as they drew nearer the boys could read the look of anger in the captain’s face.
“We were just coming back, father,” cried Norman.
“Coming back, sir? How am I ever to trust you lads again. I sent you on a mission of what might mean life or death, and I find you playing like schoolboys with that savage.”
“We were coming back, father,” said Rifle, apologetically. “We met Shanter here, and he said that the black fellows were all gone.”
“And we thought he would be able to tell better than we could,” said Norman, humbly.
“Humph! there was some excuse,” said the captain, sternly; “but I expect my orders to be carried out.—Here, boy.”
Shanter advanced rather shrinkingly.