"Eat plenty much," he said to Jean as he handed her several pieces. "We not know when we find another."
She ate and found the meat very good. Some of it Kadok had rubbed with a little salt which he took from his provision bag, and a few bits he held over the smoke to dry. All this he wrapped in green leaves and put carefully with his provisions, getting Jean water in a leaf cup and making ready to start again.
"You good little wirawi,"[12] he said approvingly. "We soon bring to Mother her good luck."
The afternoon's walk was not quite so bad as the morning's had been. Kadok struck into a track which led through the Bush to the main road. Walking here was not so troublesome and Jean managed fairly well, though her feet hurt her cruelly and toward the last Kadok had to help her along.
"Little more walk, Missa," he said encouragingly. "We find good camp for night. To-morrow we get long way to home."
But Jean was almost past thinking of the morrow, almost past thinking of home. Her poor little body ached in every muscle, her face and hands were scratched and bleeding, and she was faint with hunger and fatigue. She stumbled on, Kadok holding her arm, until at last she could go no longer and would have fallen, had not the black boy picked her up and carried her. Laden as he was with his heavy swag, it was no easy task to carry a heavy child of eight, but he was a strong, muscular fellow, used to Bush life, and not tired as was his white charge. He carried her along the track some twenty rods, then paused and looked closely into the forest. It seemed a great wall to shut them off, but the keen eye of the Black caught an almost imperceptible opening amongst the leaves and he left the path once more to tread the mazes of the wood. Only a little distance and he came to a ruined hut overgrown with moss and creeping plants. It had once been a shepherd's hut and was a poor place, but at any rate it would serve as a shelter from the night and Kadok carried Jean within and laid her down on the floor.
"Little Missa tired out," he said, pitying the child's white face, which looked unearthly in the light of the sunset which streamed through the open doorway. Jean was too tired to speak. She looked at him wearily for a moment and then closed her eyes. "Missa must eat. Not good to sleep too quick," he said.
He made a fire at the door of the hut, partly for warmth, for with the sun's going down came the cool night dews, and partly to drive away mosquitoes, as well as to cook their supper. He then brought water from the trough, and made damper and forced bits of it between the child's teeth and gave her a drink of water. Little pieces of roasted meat he added to her meal, and at last she sat up and smiled her thanks at him.