Wapoota knew that Ongoloo was not displeased with him by the nature of his address. He therefore followed, without anxiety, to a retired spot among the bush-covered rocks.
“You can screech, Wapoota?”
“Yes, chief,” answered the ex-thief in some surprise, “I can screech like a parrot the size of a whale.”
“That will do. And you love peace, like me, Wapoota, and hate bloodshed, though you love thieving.”
“True, chief,” returned the other, modestly.
“Well then, listen—and if you tell any one what I say to you, I will squeeze the eyes out of your head, punch the teeth from your jaws, and extract the oil from your backbone.”
Wapoota thought that this was pretty strong for a man who had just declared his hatred of bloodshed, but he said nothing.
“You know the rock, something in shape like your own nose, at the foot of this pass?” said Ongoloo.
“I know it, chief.”
“Well, go there; hide yourself, and get ready for a screech. When you see the Ratura dogs come in sight, give it out—once—only once,—and if you don’t screech well, I’ll teach you how to do it better afterwards. Wait then till you hear and see me and my men come rushing down the track, and then screech a second time. Only once, mind! but let it be long and strong. You understand? Now—away!”