Edgar knelt down beside Yacka, who was lying on the ground half stunned.
‘The brutes!’ said Edgar. ‘They have mauled him badly. How do you feel, Yacka? Any bones broken?’
The black smiled feebly and said:
‘No bones broken, Master Edgar, but I have got a bad head. I could have beaten the first three, but more came up and they got at me from behind.’ Seeing Hepburn, he added significantly: ‘That is what causes revenge, and the killing of white men.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Will. ‘You cannot expect a blackfellow to stand such brutal conduct as this.’
‘No,’ said Hepburn, ‘but the worst of it is the innocent suffer for the guilty. These brutes get off scot-free, and some poor settler meets with his death.’
‘Yacka has never killed a man what you call a settler,’ said the black.
‘No one supposes you have,’ said Edgar. ‘Can you walk?’
Yacka managed to stand on his feet, but his head swam, and he felt dizzy.
‘Bring him into my shanty,’ said Hepburn. ‘I can’t stand even a blackfellow being knocked about in this style.’