when he sank for the second time, he did it on purpose. the fall had not hurt him, and his mind worked quickly, for he knew that only cunning could save him. he swam under water for a few moments, letting himself go with the current. but presently a kind of eddy dragged him down, and he found himself against a wall of rock, which blocked the way, so that there seemed to be no escape. but even in his agony he remembered that so long as the current ran there must be some way out; and he dived deeply into the eddy. it took him through a hole in the rock, far under the water, scraping him cruelly against the edges; but still, he was through, and on the other side he rose, gasping. here the river was wider and shallower, and not so swift. yurong let it carry him for awhile; then he scrambled out on one side, and found a hiding-place under a great boulder. he rubbed himself down with rushes, shivering. then, crouching in his hole, he slept.
when he awoke, he knew that now he should not lose a moment in getting back to his tribe. he had learned the fighting strength of the baringas, with all else that he had come to find out; but, besides that, he had now the deaths of his comrades to avenge. and yet, three days later, yurong was still in hiding near the enemy's camp. he had made up his wicked mind that when he went away he would take with him the beautiful girl he had so often seen in the forest with her companions.
quite unconscious of her danger, miraga went about her daily work. the sight of her, and the beauty of her, burned into yurong's brain; often in the forest he dogged her footsteps, but the other girls were always near her, and he dared not try to carry her away. he knew now she was the chief's daughter, and he smiled to think that through her he could deal the cruellest blow to wadaro, besides gaining for himself the loveliest wife in all the bush.
but out in the scrub the girls clustered about miraga, and in the camp the young men were never far from her. there was not one of them who would not have gladly taken her as his bride, but she told her father that she was too young to think of being married, and wadaro was glad enough to keep her by his side. but yurong, fiercely jealous, could see that there was one man on whom miraga's eyes would often turn when he was not looking in her direction—a tall fellow named konawarr—the swan—who loved her so dearly that indeed he scarcely gave her a chance to look at him, since he so rarely took his gaze from her! he was the leader of the young fighting-men, and a great hunter; and yurong thirsted to kill him, as the kangaroos thirst for the creeks in summer, when drought has laid his withering hand upon the waters.
so five days went by. in the forest yurong hid, living on very little food—for he dared not often go hunting—and always watching the camp; and miraga, never dreaming of the danger near her, lived her simple, happy life. the children always thronged round her when she moved about the camp, and she would pause to fondle the little naked black babies that tumbled round the wurleys, tossing them in the air until they shouted with laughter. yurong saw with amazement how the little animals came to her and played at her feet, and it impressed him greatly with a sense of the wealth of the baringa tribe. "ky!" he said to himself, "they are able to use food for playthings!" never before had he dreamed of such a thing.
one evening the girls went out into the scrub, yam-digging, each carrying her yam-stick and dilly-bag—the netted bag into which the black women put everything, from food to nose-ornaments. miraga's was woven of red and white rushes, with a quaint pattern on one side, and she was very proud of it, for it had been konawarr's gift. she was thinking of his kind eyes as she walked through the trees, brushing aside tendrils of starry clematis and wild convolvulus, and finding a way through musk and hazel thickets. he had looked at her very gently when he gave her the bag, and she knew that she could trust him. she was very happy as she wandered on—so happy that she did not notice for a while that she had strayed some distance from the other girls, and that already the shadows were creeping about the forest to make the darkness.
"i am too far from camp," she said aloud. "i must hurry back, or my father will be angry."
she turned to retrace her steps, pausing a moment to make sure of her direction. then, from the gloom of a tall clump of dogwood, something sprang upon her and seized her. she struggled, sending a stifled cry into the forest—but it died as a heavy blow from a waddy took away her senses. yurong carried her swiftly away.
day came, and found them still fleeing, miraga a helpless burden in her captor's arms. days and nights passed, and still they travelled northwards, across the rivers, the forest, and the mountains. they went slowly, for at length yurong could carry the girl no farther, and at first she was too weak to walk much. even when she grew stronger she still pretended to be weak, doing all in her power to delay their flight—always straining her ears in the wild hope that behind her she might hear the feet of the men coming to save her—led by wadaro and by konawarr. somewhere, she knew, they were searching for her. but as the days went by, and no help came, her heart began to sink hopelessly.
yurong was not unkind to her. he treated her gently enough, telling her she was to be his wife, but she hated him more and more deeply each hour. thinking her very weak, he let her travel slowly, and helped her over the rough places, though she shrank from his touch. but he took no risks with her. he kept his weapons carefully out of her reach, and at night, when they slept, he bound her feet and hands with strips of kangaroo-hide, so that she might not try to escape.
then they came to the topmost crest of the mountains, and below them yurong could see the country of his people. at that, miraga gave up all hope. they camped on the ridge that night; and for the first time she sobbed herself to sleep.
she woke up a while later, with a sound of little whispers in her ears. it was quite dark inside the wurley; but she heard a patter of tiny, scurrying feet, and a few faint squeaks. miraga lay very still, trembling. then a shrill little voice came, very close to her.
"mistress—oh, mistress!"
"who is it?" she whispered.
"we are your little people," came the faint voice. "lie very still, and we will set you free!"
on her hand, miraga felt a patter of tiny feet, like snowflakes falling. they ran all over her body; she felt them down at her bare ankles, and near her face. she knew them now, though it was dark—little padi-padi, the pouch-mouse, and punta, the shrew-mouse, and kanungo, the kangaroo-rat, with the bandicoot, talka. they were all her friends—her little people. dozens of them seemed to be there in the dark, nibbling furiously at the strips of hide on her wrists and ankles.
how long the time seemed as she lay, trembling, in great fear lest yurong should awaken! the very sound of her own breathing was loud in her ears, and the faint rustlings of the little people seemed a noise that must surely wake the sleeping warrior. but yurong was tired, and he slept soundly: and the little people worked hard. at last the bonds fell apart and she was free.
gliding like a snake, she crept out of the wurley, and ran swiftly into the forest that clothed the mountains. but scarcely had she gone when yurong woke and found she was not there.
he sprang to his feet with a shout, grasping his weapons, and rushed outside. there was no sign of miraga—but his quick ear caught the sound of a breaking twig in the forest, and he raced in pursuit. again he heard it, this time so close that he knew she could not be more than a few yards away. then he found himself suddenly on the edge of a great wall of rock, and there was no time to stop. he shouted again, in despair, as he fell—down, down. then no more sounds came.
but just on the edge of the precipice three bandicoots came out of a heap of dry sticks, laughing.
"that was easily done," said one. "it was only necessary to jump up and down among the sticks and break a few, and the silly fellow made sure it was miraga."
"well, he will not make any more foolish mistakes," said his brother. "but is it not surprising to find how simple these humans are!"
"all but our mistress," the first said. "come—we must make haste to follow her, or else we shall have another long hunt. and nobody knows what mischief she may fall into, if we are not there to look after her!"
