"Where is the wife of the Slayer?" said Big Jack, as he came into the light.
"She is by her gunyah, father," cried the others.
But the Baker clutched Smith's arm.
"What have they got, Smith?" he cried in a thick whisper.
And Smith did not answer; for each one of the party was carrying two heads. And Big Jack came to the woman, and without a word put his terrible trophies on the ground in front of her. The next man did the same, and turning, joined Big Jack at the fire. As each burden was put down, a yell arose from the crowd, and when there were thirty grinning heads in one awful pile, they shouted "hurrah" once more.
"D'ye think they ate the rest?" asked the Baker.
But Smith, who felt sick, could not answer that question. How could he tell if these men were cannibals? If they were, what a strange and awful reversion! what a savage satire upon the white world of a boasted but vain civilisation!
And meanwhile Big Jack related their experiences.
"We found the Slayer's body, and his wound was made with an Emu's spear. Yesterday we followed their tracks, and caught them by noon. There are none left."
But some of the men were wounded, and the woman attended their hurts. Their chief or captain was not touched. The others told stories of his strength and skill in a strange, mixed dialect, that came to them easiest when excitement stirred them.