Craig showed no signs of fear. Indeed he felt none. He told the chief, however, that he had not approved of the action of the white men, his brothers, and had come, if possible, to make peace. Why should they fight? There was room enough in the forest and scrub for all. If they—the blacks—would leave the cattle and flocks of the squatters alone, he—Craig—could assure them things would go on as happily as before.
“And if not?” they asked.
“If not, for one black man there was in the country, there were a thousand white. They would come upon them in troops, even like the locusts; they would hunt them as they hunted the dingoes; they would kill them as dingoes were killed, and before long all the black fellows would be in the land of forgetfulness. What would it profit them then that they had speared a few white fellows?”
Craig stayed for hours arguing with these wild men, and left at last after having actually made peace with honour.
The cloud had rolled away, for a time at all events.
In the course of a few days Archie and his man left on his return journey. Findlayson made up his mind to go on with him to Burley New Farm; for this Scot was very fond of an occasional trip eastwards, and what he called a “twa-handed crack” with Bob or Harry.
Everybody was glad to see him; for, truth to tell, no one had ever seen Findlayson without a smile on his old-fashioned face, and so he was well liked.
Bob came galloping out to meet them, and with him, greatly to Archie’s astonishment, was what he at first took for a black bear.
The black bear was Bounder.
Archie dismounted and threw his arms round the great honest dog’s neck, and almost burst into tears of joy.