than they met Shanter, who came toward them laughing.

"Black fellow all gone. No see bull-cow and big horse fellow. All gone
away. Budgery job. Shanter mumkull all lot."

He gave then a short war-dance, and a display of his skill with his
spear, sending it flying with tremendous force and never missing the
tree at which he aimed, into whose soft bark it stuck quivering, while
he ran up, dragged it out, and belaboured the trunk with his club.

It was an expressive piece of pantomime to show how he would kill all
the black fellows he met; and when he had ended, he stood grinning at
the boys, waiting for their praise.

"Oh, it's all very fine, old chap," said Norman, speaking for the
others; "but how do we know that you would not run away, or be mumkulled
yourself by the black fellows?"

Shanter nodded his head, and smiled more widely.

"Mumkull all a black fellow--all run away. Budgery nulla-nulla. Plenty
mine."

He whirled his club round and hurled it at the nearest tree, which it
struck full in the centre of the trunk. Then as he picked it up--

"Shall we trust to what he said? If he is right, we needn't go
scouting," said Norman.

"Let's go back and tell uncle," suggested Tim. "There's no need to go
on the look-out," cried Rifle.

"Those people are Tam o' Shanter's enemies, and he would not go on like
this if they had not gone.--I say, I want to see you use this," he
continued, as he touched one of the flat pieces of wood, the black
having two now stuck in his waistband.

"Boomerang," cried the black, taking out the heavy pieces of wood, one
of which was very much curved, rounded over one side, flat on the other,
both having sharpened edges, such as would make them useful in times of
emergency as wooden swords. "Boomerang," he said again.

"Oh yes; I know what you call them," said Rifle; "but I want to see them
thrown."

As he spoke he took hold of the straighter weapon and made believe to
hurl it.

"No budgery," cried the man, taking the weapon.

"Mumkull black fellow." Then, taking the other very much curved piece
of wood, he gave it a flourish. "Mumkull boomer."

"Who's boomer?" said Norman. "Black fellow?"

Shanter gesticulated and flourished his curved weapon, shook his head,
stamped, and cried, "No black fellow. Boomer-boomer."

"Well, who's boomer?" cried Rifle. "A black fellow?"

"No, no. Mumkull plenty boomer."

He dropped spear, nulla, and boomerangs, stooped a littl