For quite ten minutes the poor fellow remained unconscious, then, when he came to his senses, his first question was about the horse. Was he hurt?
“No, Dick; but your leg is broken.”
The language that flowed from Mr. Scott's bearded lips cannot possibly be set down, but he resigned himself cheerfully to Grainger and Jacky when they put the broken limb into rough splints made of bark and twigs to keep it in position until they could do something better on their arrival at the camp.
Refusing to be carried, Scott dragged himself up the bank, and then allowed them to lift him on Euchre's back, Grainger riding and Jacky walking beside him.
By the time they reached the camp it was broad daylight, and an alarmed look came into Grainger's eyes when there was no response to his loud Coo-ee! thrice repeated.
Suddenly Jacky, whose dark eyes were rolling unnaturally as he glanced all around him, let go the horse he was leading, sprang forward, and entered the tent. He reappeared in a moment.
“What is wrong, Jacky? Where is she?”
“Gone,” was the quick reply. “Myall blackfellow been here and take her away!”
“Good God!” said Grainger hoarsely, feeling for the moment utterly unnerved as he watched the black-boy walk quickly round and round the tent, examining the grass.
“Plenty blackfellow been here,” he said, “but only one fellow been go inside tent. I think it, he catch him up missie when she sleep———”