‘It is the will of Enooma,’ said Yacka, ‘and she must be obeyed.’
‘The White Spirit would never allow men to be tortured,’ said Edgar. ‘There is no White Spirit over the Enooma; it is a black spirit, and full of evil.’
‘You saved Yacka’s life,’ said the black, ‘and he is grateful. If my tribe know you call Enooma a black spirit, Yacka could not save you. Follow me. It is not far. Yacka will lead you back when you have looked upon the White Spirit, and seen the gold and beautiful stones.’
The agonized groans of the tortured blacks sounded terrible, and Edgar said:
‘Kill these men, and we will go with you.’
Yacka hesitated, and Edgar, noticing it, said:
‘I took your hand in friendship; now it is stained in blood. Kill these men, and I will forgive you, and the White Spirit will be glad.’
‘It shall be,’ said Yacka, and moved away towards the camp.
How he prevailed upon the tribe he did not say, but the tortured men were killed, and their groans ceased, much to Edgar’s relief.
After this experience, there was no telling what might happen if another encounter took place with a hostile tribe, and the Enooma were defeated. Yacka, however, had no intention of proceeding alone, and Edgar and Will found the tribe was to accompany them. Marching many miles a day in the company of a tribe of warlike blacks was a novel experience. Edgar had many opportunities of noting how they lived and their habits. He soon learned that the Enooma were excellent marksmen, and could throw a spear with as great accuracy as he could shoot. They used their boomerangs dexterously.