The camp was a primitive affair, a few rude shelters made by bending bamboo sticks together and covering them with strips of paper bark.

Here the sable wariors sat and smoked all day long, tobacco being their only civilised possession.

Carew was very anxious to look at them, a development of curiosity that Considine could not understand.
"Most uninteresting devils, I call 'em," he said.

"They're stark naked, and they have nothing.

What is there to look at ?" Having parted with Maggie and Lucy, they pushed onwards, the old man beguiling the time with disquisitions on the horse-hunting capabilities of his gins, whom he seemed really sorry to leave.