Sal knew Woolloola was the name given to one of their camping grounds; there were no houses there, it was not a township, merely a black fellows' camp.
'They take the gang to-morrow early,' she said. 'You will not be in time.'
'The fight will be long. We shall be in time,' was the reply.
'Follow me,' she said.
She got an old lantern and, lighting the candle, went out into the paddock. Standing still she took his arm and pointed to a mound of newly-turned earth.
'The black gin from Barker's Creek who gave me warning lies there. Abe Dalton shot her through the head. Thus was she repaid for trying to save me.'
She felt him tremble, and he raised his hand and shook it as though brandishing a spear.
'She shall be avenged!' he muttered. 'Blood shall be spilled for her. The tribe will avenge her and King Charlie will lead them on. Come!'
The old black walked before her with a peculiar dignity that would have been amusing had it been assumed, but it was not, it came natural even to this savage.
'Give me food and I will go,' he said.