‘But this pitchin’s terrible dry work, lads,’ suddenly broke off the narrator. ‘Come inside, an’ let’s have another long-sleever apiece, an’ then I’ll finish the yarn. Spite o’ them “mopokes” I’ve got a bit o’ stuff left yet. ‘Well, mates,’ went on Wilson, as the party resumed their seats, ‘the darkies throwed their spears, an’ slings their bommerangs, but it weren’t no use, I was too high up for ’em, and the nighest spear as come out of a couple o’ dozen, sticks in a good six foot below my limb. Seein’ this, one beggar gets the axe from the wood-heap. But she were old an’ blunt like her owner, ole Davies, an’ I soon see by the way they shapes as it’d take ’em a couple o’ years to fall me. For a while they niggles away at the big butt, turn an’ turn about, then jacks the contract, gruntin’ like a lot o’ pigs. ‘Next move were, one gets the gun out o’ the hut, an’ I scwoushes down into a six-inch heap, till I remembers she weren’t loaded; an’ I didn’t give ’em credit for knowin’ how to do that. ‘The mopoke as got her points her most careful, with the stock agen his belly, an’ with a grin at his mates, as much as to reckon, “You watch me pot him,” he shouts “Bung!” an’ as true’s I’m sittin’ here, I bursts out larfin’ to see them black fools a-starin’ up so hard, and wonderin’ why I didn’t fall down dead man. ‘Presen’ly, ’bout half way up my tree, they spots a good-sized pipe, an’ bringin’ a fire-stick from the hut, up one comes like a lamplighter. I knowed the ole gum was sound an’ green enough at the butt, but I sees by the pipe that some of the top limbs must be holler, an’ I didn’ fancy this last move a little bit. So, as he’s busy straddled-out, a-blowin’ and a-puffin’ to raise the flame, I nips down, pulls out the spear, an’ lets drive at him ’s hard ’s I could. You never see such a thing in your lives! It hit him just acrost the loins, an’ goes more’n half way through him. He just gives a wriggle or two and twists over into a fork and lies there, a proper stiff ’un. ‘You bet, lads, I was proud’s a dog with a tin tail; an’ sez I, “One for poor Towzer, you pot-bellied willian!” By gosh! didn’t they yell, an’ dance, an’ carry on when they sees this, an’ me safe agen back in the ole perch. ‘Runnin’ to the hut, they tears out the slabs in a wink, piles ’em up at the butt of the ole gum, and sets fire to ’em. ‘In a minute or two, I couldn’t see a stem for smoke; but, as they was green belar, not a blaze could they get out of ’em. ‘Well, I was squattin’ up there, a-peepin’ down through the smoke for the next feller as wanted to show off his climbin’ abilities, when I hears a noise of horses gallopin’, an’ men shoutin’, an’ shots a-poppin’ off like Billy-ho.