‘The rugged plateau of the summit of Boolooloo had been hollowed into caves from immemorial time, favoured retreats of the wild tribes in its vicinity. It wanted now an hour to sundown; the hill was then three miles distant.
‘Bothwell’s order was to wait until nightfall, then to surprise the camp and to arrest Hutkeeper, with the usual alternative if he evaded or resisted the capture. He promised me that, if possible, he should be taken alive. Sudden vengeance having been denied me, I was far from keen for the old pagan’s blood. Bothwell could have told me that Hutkeeper’s last sun was setting.
‘The troopers, deciding to stalk the bush on foot, took off their superfluous clothing, also their boots, slinging their ammunition pouches over their shoulders. The horses, unsaddled and close hobbled, were turned loose. Then all awaited the close of day. Supper was postponed till after the invasion of the camp, as a fire would have betrayed our vicinity. The troopers, light-hearted and free from anxiety, a complaint chiefly confined to the white man, passed away the time card-playing. Their officer and I sat silently on the short turf, watching the shadows of the gydya trees lengthen, ah! so slowly. The sun was fading over the northern turrets of Boolooloo, lighting them into elfin splendour, as might gleam the battlements of a ruined castle. A fast-glooming shadow crept around the mountain, until at length its huge mass was hidden from the watchers.
‘The light of day had departed. The hour was come. The last act of the tragedy was about to commence.
‘The troopers put up their cards, lifted their carbines, and passed shadow-like and silently through the trees. We followed. In an hour we reached the base of Boolooloo.
‘Mayboy halted and whispered to his chief, “Marmy! close up to camp now, drekaly see fire longa nother one side.” The wind sighed from the hill top towards us. There was therefore no danger of the sharp-eared blacks’ dogs giving tongue in time to warn them. Then all crawled noiselessly up the steep sides of Boolooloo, pausing when about a hundred yards from the camp. Fires were smouldering in front of the caves, but not a creature was visible. We moved cautiously forward. Then a dog raised a dismal howl, and was joined in full chorus by his comrades.
‘In the middle of this mournful music the troopers bounded into the camp, scattering the dogs into the crevices of the rocks. The next moment a yell of terror and despair burst from the wretched blacks, who came rolling out of the caves, and, huddled together in groups, they wailed out, “Goondi galo (tame blacks), goondi galo,” incessantly.
‘Then from the centre cave leaped forth a hideous demoniac figure, ghastly with white and red pigment. “Hutkeeper! Hutkeeper!” shouted the troopers. “Look out, Marmy! that one big one coola (angry, fierce).” By the dim starlight I was enabled to recognise my late shepherd transformed into a warrior, prepared to meet his enemies fairly and to the death. The old savage held before him his file-shaped shield. In his belt hung the nulla and tomahawk; while his right hand held aloft a battle-spear, poised and quivering.
‘For one moment—his last—he stood with blazing eye and wolfish gaze upon the foe, a true warrior of the waste, then hurled his spear into the centre of the party. The quivering rifled weapon, speeding through the air like a cloth-yard shaft, grazed the cheek of Mayboy, and by a hairbreadth only missed the somewhat solid proportions of Bothwell. Six carbines rang out in answering volley, and, leaping into the air, Hutkeeper fell forward on his face, a dead man.
‘Our work was finished. Civilisation had been vindicated. The whole party silently retreated, leaving the sad tribe alone with their dead. Will the caverns be haunted, in days to come, by a spirit that cannot be laid by the white man’s bullet? When I returned to Tthoondula, I thus addressed my partner, “Well, old boy, I can see that man-hunting is not much in my line. You’ll oblige me greatly by killing your own nigger next time.”’