“Where was she?” said Grainger, whose heart was thumping fiercely as, rifle in hand, he sprang to his feet.
“In the middle of the boora ground. She sit up, but all the same as if she sleep—-eyes shut.”
“Oh, God, to think that I left her!—to look after horses,” Grainger said bitterly to himself as he followed Jacky, who little knew how dear Sheila was to the heart of his “boss.”
Swiftly but cautiously Jacky led the way through the scrub until they came to the margin of the boora ground, and then Grainger saw twenty or thirty blacks seated on the ground in a circle, spears and waddies in hand. In the centre was Sheila, crouched on her knees, with her hands covering her eyes. On each side of her was a Winchester rifle, and a belt with an ammunition pouch—her dowry. And standing near by her, attended by their nude seconds, were Daylight and Sandy, who were also armed with spears and waddies. They were both stripped and painted, and ready to slaughter each other.
“Boss,” whispered Jacky, “which feller you want to take?”
“I'll take the big man with the beard,” said Grainger, as he drew up his Winchester.
“All right, boss! I take the other man—that's Daylight. But don't shoot until they walk across boora ground, and turn and face each other. Shoot him through bingie,{*} boss—don't try for head, you might miss him.”
* Stomach.
“All right, Jacky,” and Grainger lay flat on the ground and brought his rifle to his shoulder, “but don't miss your man.”
“No fear of that, boss. I'm going to give it to Daylight between the eyes. But let me drop him first.”