ellow-tribesmen could
recognize.

This moment of thought saved the drover from an act of madness which
would certainly have ended in his death. Stobart trusted Yarloo
implicitly, and also felt sure that Coiloo was doing his best to carry
out the white man's wishes. Therefore he knew that it would be foolish
to vent his rage at this particular time, and perhaps spoil what the
two faithful natives were doing for him. So he picked up his weapons
again, took his share of the horse-flesh, and went up to his cave.

He was very down-hearted. He was a man of action, and here he was,
impelled to wait while others did things for him which he knew nothing
about. He was very tired, but could not sleep because of his restless
thoughts, so he went outside his cave after cooking and eating his
dinner, and started to walk about in the cool evening air. He walked
as silently as a native, and presently heard the sound of a voice
chanting quietly and earnestly in the native tongue. He crept nearer.
A man was crouching down on all four like an animal, swaying his body
and muttering. Stobart was standing up and could not see who it was,
so he stooped down till the man's body and head were silhouetted
against the sky. It was Arrkroo, the Hater.

Inch by inch Stobart worked his way nearer, till he heard the words and
saw what the native doctor was doing. There was a small pointed bone,
called an irna, about eight inches long, sticking upright in the sand.
At one end was a knob of hardened gum from spinifex grass, and a long
string made of the hair of a lubra was attached to it. The man was
stooping over the irna and muttering:

"Okinchincha quin appani ilchi ilchi-a." (May your head and throat be
split open.)

He said this three times, moved the irna to a new place, and then began
a new curse:

"Purtulinga apina-a intaapa inkirilia quin appani intarpakala-a." (May
your backbone be split open and your ribs torn asunder.)

This went on for some time and then Arrkroo got up and walked away,
leaving the irna in the ground. Next night he would return for it, and
whoever the man pointed that bone at would most certainly die. Natives
do not think that any man dies from a natural cause; it is always a
case of magic, and if a big strong healthy black-fellow happens to be
"boned" by his enemy in the proper way, he gets weaker and weaker,
either with or without some special disease, till at last he dies. He
always dies.

Arrkr