After a gruesome tramp over the battle-field, they returned to the camp. The victorious Enooma were already commencing to celebrate their triumph.
Edgar saw a group of prisoners, about forty or fifty in number, bound with thongs made of some kind of reed or long grass. They all looked terror-stricken, and evidently knew what was in store for them.
‘Poor wretches!’ said Will. ‘It would be a kindness to shoot them.’
‘We must not interfere,’ said Edgar. ‘It would be risking our lives to do so. Even Yacka would not stand that.’
‘You saw a dance at Yanda,’ said Yacka. ‘You will see a genuine war dance soon.’
Towards night the big men of the tribe assembled round Yacka, and all squatted on the ground.
‘They are deciding the fate of the prisoners,’ said Will. ‘I hope it will not be very awful.’
The consultation did not last long, and Yacka came towards them. He seemed pleased at the prospect before him, and laughed harshly.
‘It is good,’ he said. ‘All die a dog’s death.’
‘Will they be hanged?’ asked Will.