The birds flew right into the lagoon, and settled down on the water not far from Yacka. In a few minutes there was a flutter in the water, and the flock rose quickly and flew rapidly away, leaving three of their number struggling entangled in a fine-meshed net Yacka had thrown dexterously over them. Yacka stood up, and, seizing the ducks one by one, quickly killed them, and brought them to the shore where Edgar and Will were sitting.
‘Cleverly done,’ said Edgar. ‘If we run short of ammunition there is little fear of starving when Yacka can effect such captures.’
The ducks were spitted and roasted, Yacka as usual acting as cook, and they were thoroughly enjoyed. Wild bees seemed plentiful, and Yacka went in search of honey, which he soon found in the hollow of a tree.
So pleasant was it by the lagoon that they rested there for several days, enjoying bathing in the lukewarm water, and finding plenty of birds to supply their daily wants. Yacka captured a native bear, a curious little fellow with a woolly skin, and a sharp, inquiring face. When tucked up he looked for all the world like a big ball. Huge lizards were occasionally seen gliding about, and the shrill cries of parrots were heard overhead. At night the peculiar cry of the laughing jackass was heard. A flock of black swan passed by, but did not settle on the lagoon. They also saw pigeons, wild geese, plover, and quail, and a couple of pelicans.
So interesting was the wild life of this lagoon that Edgar was loath to move on into less hospitable country, but he saw signs that Yacka was becoming impatient, so decided to resume their march. They left the camp by the lagoon with much regret, and cast many a wistful glance behind.
‘It will be a long time before we strike such a good camping-ground again,’ said Edgar.
‘Wait until you reach Yacka’s country,’ said the black; ‘find plenty sport there. My tribe help you hunt and fish in big lakes and rivers.’
‘To which tribe do you belong?’ asked Edgar.
‘MacDonnell Ranges,’ said Yacka; ‘but we have gone miles and miles further north to the land of Enooma, the White Spirit, across sandy desert. My tribe very old and warlike. Their country goes far into the Northern Territory.’
‘So your tribe is known as the MacDonnell Ranges blacks,’ said Edgar; ‘but you have a native name, I expect. What is it?’