But there was another behind him and much nearer,
who came silently out of the ti-tree and thrust a spear through
Donald's neck. The horse galloped away towards Glengarry's bridge.
When the drovers saw the riderless horse, they supposed that
Macalister had been accidentally thrown, and they sent Friday to look
for him. He found him dead. The blacks had done their work quickly.
They had stripped Donald of everything but his trousers and boots,
had mutilated him in their usual fashion, and had disappeared. A
messenger was sent to old Macalister, and the young man was buried on
the bank of the river near McClure's grave. The new cemetery now
contained three graves, the second being that of Tinker Ned, who shot
himself accidentally when pulling out his gun from beneath a
tarpaulin.
Lachlan Macalister had had a long experience in dealing with
blackfellows and bushrangers; he had been a captain in the army, and
an officer of the border police. The murder of his nephew gave him
both a professional and a family interest in chastising the
criminals, and he soon organised a party to look for them. It was,
of course, impossible to identify any blackfellow concerned in the
outrage, and therefore atonement must be made by the tribe. The
blacks were found encamped near a waterhole at Gammon Creek, and
those who were shot were thrown into it, to the number, it was said,
of about sixty, men, women, and children; but this was probably an
exaggeration.
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