"I daresay; but it was something more than original sin. He went for me with as much ferocity as an eagle whose nest I disturbed once. Does this place belong to him, I wonder?"
John could only repeat that the man was a "bad fella." But Royce felt a good deal puzzled. The negro's savage onslaught might be explained by his regarding the white man as a robber, but there appeared to be nothing in the place worth stealing. It was strange that he should have so fiercely resented what was, after all, an innocent intrusion.
"We'll have another look round before we start," said Royce. "Or, rather, I will. You keep guard at the doorway, John, and call me if you see anyone moving about outside."
Royce searched the building thoroughly. The result confirmed his overnight impression, that it was in a fair state of preservation. But there was nothing in any of the rooms to indicate present or even remote occupation. Except for fragments of stone and rubble, they were bare. There was nothing to tempt a robber. Royce could only conclude that the man had attacked him from an instinct of self-preservation. What had led him to enter the building was a mystery.
Royce returned to John, who during his absence had kindled a fire, skinned the rabbit, and set it to roast. They made a good breakfast, then started in the direction of the village where Royce hoped to purchase food for his men.
"We must keep a good look-out," he said, "in case that fellow should be one of a band prowling about here. He won't be difficult to recognise. There can't be many men of his height and size. And if there were, I should know him again by some strange marks on his face. Why do these black men gash themselves, John?"
"To make him look pretty, sah."
"Um! They've a queer notion of beauty, then."
Anxious to accomplish his errand and return to Challis, Royce pushed on as rapidly as possible. The country was pathless, for the most part flat, with undulations here and there, covered with thick bush varied by an occasional gum-tree. Drysdale's rough sketch-map gave him little more than a bare direction, and he had to trust a good deal to luck. After three hours' steady marching, which ought to have brought them to the village, if the estimate of its distance were correct, they were still in the same wild, barren country, without a sign of mankind. It seemed probable that they had overshot the mark, so, after taking a short rest, they altered their direction in the hope of discovering a path.
It was late in the afternoon, and they were very tired, when at last they struck into a narrow, beaten track, far to the left of their original course.