Going Forward A Little, He Got Time To Clear The Lock Of His Rifle, From The Oil Rag Which Usually

Protected it. He turned on his assailants, and sent a bullet amongst them; it hit a tree instead of a

Blackfellow, but as they still menaced him, his next shot was more successful, when seeing one of their number fall, the rest decamped. It was now their turn to run, but before they could cross the bed of the river, which was dry, clear, and about 300 yards wide, he was able to get two good shots at short range. They did not trouble him again that afternoon. They dropped all their spears in the "stampede," some of which, reed and jagged, were taken home as trophies. They used no "wommerahs." Peter came in to camp at dark, with 3 horses, having no idea where the others had got to; there were 8 still away.

'November' 23. - Sambo, the best tracker among the black-boys, was despatched at sunrise, with Peter, to look for the missing horses. He returned at sundown with the mule, which he had found on the opposite side of the river, but he had seen no traces of the rest. Peter came in after dark, without any, he had seen the tracks of the natives on the horse tracks, and related in his own jargon, that "blackfella bin run'em horses all about" and "that bin brok'em hobble." He had also seen two or three of the blacks themselves, at the lagoon where the brothers met them on the 14th, and had some parley with them - he described them a "cawbawn saucy" "that tell'im come on, me trong fella, you little fella," and after chaffing him in their own way, sent as many spears at him as he would stand for.

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