"Oh, that be blowed!" Trent muttered. "What's this in the pot? It
don't smell bad."

"Rabbit," the interpreter answered tersely. "Very good. Part
King's own supper. White men very favoured."

Trent bent over the pot which the two men had set upon the ground.
He took a fork from his belt and dug it in.

"Very big bones for a rabbit, Sam," he remarked doubtfully.

Sam looked away. "Very big rabbits round here," he remarked. "Best
keep pot. Send men away."

Trent nodded, and the men withdrew.

"Stew all right," Sam whispered confidentially. "You eat him. No
fear. But you got to go. King beginning get angry. He say white
men not to stay. They got what he promised, now they go. I know
King - know this people well! You get away quick. He think you
want be King here! You got the papers - all you want, eh?"

"Not quite, Sam," Trent answered. "There's an Englishman, Captain
Francis, on his way here up the Coast, going on to Walgetta Fort.
He must be here to-morrow. I want him to see the King's signature.
If he's a witness these niggers can never back out of the concession.
They're slippery devils. Another chap may come on with more rum and
they'll forget us and give him the right to work the mines too. See!"