“Me tired fellow alright, Missus,” and then she wanted to know why white people live in houses. I could not see any connection between these two ideas till she said, “Him silly fellow likee that. Spose you tired fellow, what’s the matter all day come home?” Then I understood what was the grievance. When a blackfellow is tired, and has plenty of tucker for supper, he sees no sense in walking a long way, just to sit on one particular patch of ground and call it home. When you have miles of beautiful country all your own, it is a much better plan to have your home just where you happen to be at the moment; and this can be arranged very easily, if you have nothing to carry about the world but a naked black body. When Bett-Bett lived “out bush,” she told me that she and her friends would just wander about wherever they liked. If they grew tired, or the sun got too hot, they would lie down and go to sleep in the beautiful warm shade. When they woke up, very likely they would go down to the nearest water-hole and have a bogey. If it was a pleasant water-hole, and some other blacks happened to be there, they would stay a few days until the tucker began to get scarce, and then all start off together, to pay some friends a visit at another water-hole, taking care, as they went, to send up smoke signals to tell the tribe where they were, and whom they had met.
The smoke language is not nearly so perfect as the sign language, but still there are signals for most of the people and places in the country. Our boys could generally tell us where the stockmen were camped each night, and if they had met any white travellers.
“Blackfellow smoke bin talk, boy bin send him,” Jimmy said once when I asked him how he knew. The stockmen’s boys had evidently sent him a telegraphic smoke message. As Bett-Bett wandered about the bush there was no danger that she would lose herself. A white child cannot possibly lose itself in its nursery and neither could Bett-Bett in hers, even though it stretched for about a hundred miles.
She talked a lot about the bush this night, and told me that Debbil-debbils are very frightened of dogs, and that if every one is very quiet the Debbil-debbils cannot find them. When she hears Debbil-debbils about, she never speaks and then they go away. Sue of course could frighten them off; but as she is a very little dog, and Debbil-debbils are very big and strong, it is just as well to take no risks. I believe that if Debbil-debbils did ever carry Sue off, Bett-Bett would insist on going too, for life without her would not be worth living.
Before I sent Bett-Bett to bed, I asked her if she would like to come a “walk-about” on horseback next time we went.
“My word, Missus!” she cried, springing to her feet, and then added politely—
“Dank you please, Missus!” and then called Sue to come and dream of the glories of such a walk-about. Next morning I heard shrieks of laughter and shouts of—
“Go and lay ‘em egg, silly fellow you.”
I went to see what it was all about, and found Bett-Bett and the lubras doubled up with laughter at old “Broody,” who seemed to be turning double somersaults and Catherine wheels across the grass patch.
Bett-Bett had been right, and the crocodile’s egg had hatched. The little curled-up creature had suddenly unwound itself, and splintering the shell into fragments had headed straight for the water.