Paw-paw and banana-
trees were just ripening their fruit, while beneath grew sweet potatoes
and yams. On one edge of the clearing was a small grass house,
open-sided, a mere rain-shelter. In front of it, crouched on his hams
before a fire, was a gaunt and bearded bushman. The fire seemed to smoke
excessively, and in the thick of the smoke a round dark object hung
suspended. The bushman seemed absorbed in contemplation of this object.
Warning them not to shoot unless the man was successfully escaping,
Sheldon beckoned the Poonga-Poonga men forward. Joan smiled
appreciatively to Sheldon. It was head-hunters against head-hunters. The
blacks trod noiselessly to their stations, which were arranged so that
they could spring simultaneously into the open. Their faces were keen
and serious, their eyes eloquent with the ecstasy of living that was upon
them--for this was living, this game of life and death, and to them it
was the only game a man should play, withal they played it in low and
cowardly ways, killing from behind in the dim forest gloom and rarely
coming out into the open.
Sheldon whispered the word, and the ten runners leaped forward--for Binu
Charley ran with them. The bushman's keen ears warned him, and he sprang
to his feet, bow and arrow in hand, the arrow fixed in the notch and the
bow bending as he sprang.
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