“Black fellow come along,” cried Shanter. “Where?”
He rushed about among the bushes, dodged in and out through the trees, and went through a pantomime again of hunting for enemies, but soon came back.
“No black fellow. All agone. Shanter kill mumkull.”
“Very well,” said the captain; “now then, you go.”
He pointed away back in the direction they had come, and, looking disappointed, the black went off toward where the river lay, and soon disappeared among the trees.
“It will not do to encourage any of those fellows about our camp,” said the captain decisively; and they returned to where the ladies were seated in the shade, all looking rested and cheerful, and as if they would soon be used to their new life.
A couple of hours later they were on their way again, with the captain and Uncle Jack in front scouting; and as they went on, the latter kept pointing out suitable-looking pieces of land which might be taken up for their settlement, but the captain always shook his head.
“No, Jack,” he said; “they will not do.”
“But the land is rich in the extreme.”
“Yes; but all one dead level. Floods come sometimes, terrible floods which rise in a few hours, and we must have high ground on which to build our station, and to which our flocks and herds can flee.”