"What was it he did?"
"He said he could have killed all of his enemies, and he only killed two. It made him feel bad even when he died. I always killed mine, and so does Jack—my big son Jack—"
And grasping at Smith's arm, he nodded, and his eyes brightened.
"They brought in thirty heads just now," he cried; "I never brought in so many, no, not even I. And I was a big man once."
His voice ran out low into a whisper, and he bowed his head, thinking of his brave youth and manhood.
"But where did the white women come from?" said Smith. "I mean your mother."
The old man laughed.
"I remember that, yes, because my mother told me after my father died. She helped him to escape from his enemies. But Smith took his wife by force as they went. I remember that."
"And was the place they came from Sydney?" asked Smith.
The old man shook his head, but looked up, and smiled.