“Baal plenty run away,” cried the black, who understood the mutilated English of the settlers, made for native comprehension, more easily than ordinary talk. “No, baal plenty run away. Hide.”
“How do you know. You pidney?”
The black nodded, and a cunning smile overspread his face as he led the captain to the loopholes at the front, side, and back of the house, pointed out at the cattle, and then said with the quiet decision of one who has grasped a fact: “Horse fellow—bull-cow—say baal go near scrub, black fellow throw spear.”
The captain uttered an ejaculation, and the boys laughed.
“Well done, Shanter!” cried Rifle. “Look, father, they are all keeping together out in the middle.”
“Oh yes there’s no doubt about it,” said the captain. “I shall end by having quite a respect for Tam.”
“Baal whip Shanter?” said the black sharply.
“No; never again.”
“Marmi gib Shanter plenty horse fellow ride?”
“Yes, you shall ride and herd the cattle.”