"Bunyip" had led
the huntsmen to that dreadful place. How it had torn one of the dogs to
pieces, and had leaped over the precipice into Dead Man's Gully, where
it had cried like a picaninny, and bellowed like a bull. No one slept in
the camp that night, and early next morning the whole tribe went away,
being afraid to remain so near the haunt of the dreaded "Bunyip."

Dot saw the flight of the Blacks in the dim distance, and told the good
news to the Kangaroo, who, however, was too exhausted to rejoice at
their escape. She still lay where she had fallen, gasping, and with her
tongue hanging down from her mouth like that of a dog.

In vain Dot caressed her, and called her by endearing names; she lay
quite still, as if unable to hear or feel. Dot's little heart swelled
within her, and taking the poor animal's drooping head on her lap, she
sat quite still and tearless; waiting in that solitude for her one
friend to die--leaving her lonely and helpless.

Presently she was startled by hearing a brisk voice, "Then it was a
human picaninny, after all! Well, my dear, what are you doing here?" Dot
turned her head without moving, and saw a little way behind her a brown
bird on long legs, standing with its feet close together, with the
self-satisfied air of a dancing master about to begin a lesson.

Dot did not care for any other creature in the Bush just then but her
Kangaroo, and the perky air of the bird annoyed her in her sorrow.
Without answering, she bent her head closer down to that of her poor
friend, to see if her eyes were still shut, and wondered if they would
ever open and look bright and gentle again.

The little brown bird strutted with an important air to where it had a
better view of Dot and her companion, and eyed them both in the same
perky manner. "Friend Kangaroo's in a bad way," it said; "why don't you
do something, sensible, instead of messing about with its head?"

"What can I do?" whimpered Dot.

"Give it water, and damp its skin, of course," said the little Bird,
contemptuously. "What fools Humans are," it exclaimed to itself. "And I
suppose you will tell me there is no water here, when all the time you
are sitting on a spring."

"But I'm sitting on grass," said Dot, now fully attentive to the bird's
remarks.

"Well, booby," sneered the bird, "and under the grass is wet moss,
which, if you make a hole in it, will fill with water. Why, I'd do it
myself, in a moment, only your claws are better sui