At last Mitchell was convinced that he must read them a lesson, or lose
some of his men, and have to fight his way back, with the whole country
roused. Half the party were then sent back, under the overseer, to
conceal themselves in the scrub and allow the natives to pass on in
pursuit of the tracks; this ambuscade, however, was scented out by the
dogs accompanying the blacks, and the natives halted, poising their
spears. One of the men hastily fired, and a retreat was made for the bank
of the river by the blacks. The scrub party followed them up firing, and
no sooner did those in advance hear the sound of the shots, than they
rushed down to join in the fray, leaving the black boy's gin the sole
protector of the drays, and equipment. On his return, the Major found her
standing erect at the head of the leading horse, with a drawn sword over
her shoulder.
Her appearance was, above all, both laughable and interesting. She was a
tall, gaunt woman, with one disfigured eye, and her attitude, as she
stood there with the naked weapon in her hand, faithful guard of all
their belongings, was a picture that Mitchell did not soon forget.
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