human
Whatever's that for? asked Sax. Neither of the boys had got into the way of addressing the natives in broken English.
gpt
You're surely not going to make a fire, are you?
human
Yah, he replied.
gpt
Me make um fire. S'pose um bad black-fella come up.
human
But how about us? objected Vaughan.
gpt
We'll be roasted alive.
human
By'm bye when it cool, Yarloo pointed to the sky,
gpt
But Mick told us to stay here,
human
Me think bad black-fella come up to-night, explained Yarloo, with great patience.
gpt
S'pose him see um fire, him think: 'White man sleep'. Then him creep up, spear-um, spear-um. S'pose we light fire then walk, bad black-fella throw um spear, no good, no good at all. White man go 'way.