We soon again got into the main track.
On reaching it, Bracewell taking out his pocketbook, wrote a few lines, warning Hector that a mob of blacks were said to be in the neighbourhood, and telling him where we proposed camping.
Cutting some thorns, he pinned it to a tree in a conspicuous place.
“Hector will not fail to observe it,” he said, as he did so.
“But if the blacks see it they’ll tear it down surely,” I remarked.
“They’ll not do that,” he answered, “they’ll fancy it is some charm, and will not venture to touch it.”
This done, we pushed forward, rather faster than we had hitherto been going, in order to arrive at a spot at which Bracewell advised that we should camp early in the evening.
Although there were several stations scattered over the country in various directions, the traffic between them was so limited, that no inns or even liquor stores had been established; and travellers had consequently to camp out in the bush night after night when proceeding towards the interior.
We found doing this was no hardship, and infinitely preferred sleeping by our camp-fire with the canopy of heaven above us, to taking up our quarters in a shepherd’s hut or grog shop.
We were approaching the end of our day’s journey, when I caught sight of a black figure flitting among the trees in the distance. Presently another, and another appeared. They did not come near us, but were apparently moving in the same direction that we were.