THE GORROBOREE 123 



and Rosey lay in their camp passively dying. Mooty 

 prowled about, the sleeves of a discarded shirt tied 

 under his distended jaws. No physical origin for the 

 mysterious disease was found during the two days he 

 devoted to methodic search and secret rite. Then an 

 anticipated discovery rewarded him and made his name 

 thrill among his race. To a condescending white man 

 he told of his skill in these terms : 



"Two fella him close up finis. Me bin look out camp 

 belonga two fella. B'mbi me bin find'm little fella fork 

 stick close up alonga groun'. Me frait. My word, 

 me bin pick'm up easy fella. Me look out longa little 

 fella hole. Me bin see hair, too much, belonga Tom 

 Goat. That hair bin mak'm two fella no good. Him 

 mak'm me fella no good. Me catch 'm that fella hair 

 along two fella stick. Tchuck'm along ribber. My 

 word 1 That fella hair no good ! Him go phuff ! 

 Kill'm fish, too many. B'mbi me fella go alonga camp. 

 Me tell'm two fella, 'You no more mak'm die. Me 

 bin find'm that fella hair belonga Tom Goat.' B'mbi 

 two fella him get up ; him no more die ; he walk about." 



Exasperated by such impropriety, aghast at the 

 consequences, Mooty doctor alike of laws, of science, 

 and of medicine, and a man of imperative mood shar- 

 pened his tomahawk at the Chinaman's grindstone, 

 theatrically testing its edge with distorted thumb. 

 Tom Goat disappeared as silently as last night's dew, 

 for Mooty does not hesitate to summarily administer 

 his own judgment when his professions are scorned, his 

 family bewitched, his countenance distorted with mumps. 



With feasting and fighting, with dancing and story- 

 telling, quarrelling and reconciliations, the assemblage 

 spent a happy week. Then the jungle reabsorbed the 

 nervous hillmen, and beach-combers straggled along the 

 yellow sands. 



