The blacks regarded Edgar and Will with much curiosity, and from the manner in which many of them pointed at their own bodies and then at Edgar’s, he thought they could not have seen many white men. It was a strange sensation for the two friends to lie awake in the midst of a camp of over two hundred savage blacks, and wonder what was about to happen.
Early in the morning they were aroused by loud warlike cries, and Yacka hurried up to them and said:
‘Follow me; the Curracoo are at hand, and there will be a fight.’
‘And if the Enooma are beaten, what will become of us?’ said Will.
‘The Enooma will win,’ said Yacka. ‘If beaten, Yacka can save you.’
He led them to a small hill not far distant from the camp, and bade them remain until his return.
‘You can see the fight,’ he said, ‘and there is no danger.’
‘This is a lively situation,’ said Edgar. ‘With all due respect to Yacka, if his tribe is defeated, the Curracoo will make short work of us.’
‘There they are!’ said Will, pointing excitedly to a dark mass moving across the open country.
‘It seems to me there are some hundreds of them,’ said Edgar; ‘far more than the Enooma. This is a poor look-out, Will. We must be prepared to fight for our lives.’