"Boys?" suggested Mr. Wright.
The faintest shadow of a smile stole over their faces as Kala replied,—
"No boys. Wear things like shirt round legs, and funny hats on heads."
"Why, darn it, the rascals mean women," cried our host, with some energy and considerable relief.
"Yes," was the prompt reply of Kala.
"They won't hurt you, man, unless they happen to fall in love with your black skin and marry you. Then I'd not be responsible for your head."
"Men have long guns, and little guns in belts," continued Kala.
"Pooh!" said Mr. Wright, turning to us and refilling our glasses, "the poor fellows have got frightened at their shadows. They have seen a small party of miners on their way to Ballarat, and it's probable that they have missed the direct road and got on one of the numerous trails which sometimes puzzle the best stockmen. They will find their way out after a fashion, although this is rather a hard night for exposing females. You can go," he said, addressing the two natives, but the men still lingered as though not satisfied with their visit.
"Miners no kill children," Kala exclaimed, briefly.
"How? Who has killed children?" demanded Mr. Wright, setting his glass upon the table, its contents untouched.