‘He’s a good fellow, although he is black,’ said Edgar. ‘I’m very fond of Yacka, but I cannot quite make him out. He seems to have something on his mind. I hope he has done nothing very dreadful.’
‘You never know what these black fellows are up to,’ said Brody; ‘but I do not think Yacka is deceitful. Revengeful they all are, and if anyone harmed Yacka or others belonging to him, I believe he would make it particularly warm for him.’
Yacka followed Edgar about with dog-like devotion, and never tired of doing odd jobs for him. Edgar watched the black carve wonderful scenes on emu eggs, and it was extraordinary the faithfulness with which he depicted birds and beasts on these brittle shells.
After taking particular care to carve one egg, Yacka, with a look of fear in his eyes, handed it to Edgar.
‘Why, it’s a cave surrounded by rocks and shrubs,’ said Edgar. ‘Where did you see it? There is nothing at all like that about here.’
‘No,’ said Yacka, ‘long way off. Tramp, tramp, for miles. Lonely desert where no white man ever been—wonderful place. Like to see it?’
The black spoke eagerly, and Edgar saw there was something he had left hidden, which he did not care for him to know.
‘It would be no good going such a long journey, Yacka,’ he replied, ‘because there are no people, and what is to be found when we get there? We might starve on the way, or die from want of water.’
‘Plenty water,’ said Yacka. ‘I know the track; no one else knows it. There!’ he exclaimed, as he smashed the emu egg he had been at so much trouble to carve, ‘no one find it now, not even you.’
‘I should remember the place if I saw it,’ said Edgar. ‘You carve so well, and I am sure what you carved on that egg is true to Nature.’