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sight of Konikatnie is the cause to which the death is assigned.
Every now and again a bangal will disappear from the camp, and remain absent for many days together, and when he returns his eyes will be bleared and bloodshot, and his opossum cloak rank and covered with the miry ooze of the river. On these occasions he is full of wondrous tales of his adventures at the bottom of the river whilst being hospitably entertained by his friend the Konikatnie, and no matter how highly coloured the stories may be, or how glaringly patent the falsehoods are with which he duly embellishes them, his wide-mouthed, greedy audiences give implicit credence to every marvel.
The province of Konikatnie is to keep guard during the hours of darkness, when sleep weighs heavy on the eyelids of those whose turn it is to keep a vigilant watch, lest the stealthy footsteps of a vile bukeen should steal into the slumbering camp and extract the kidney fat of some oblivious victim.[1] The task thus assigned to this spirit is rather a singular one considering the fatal effects of even a chance meeting with him, but so it is nevertheless.
When a poor victim to the vile bukeen is found stark, with the fat excised from his kidneys as the morning sun wakes the sleeping camp to consciousness, whatever bangal chances to be in the camp immediately begins to vituperate the whole tribe for having done something to rouse the ire of the water spirit, who, in consequence thereof, allowed
- ↑ Prior to the advent of Europeans, and even for many years after that event, all the native tribes made a practice of keeping sentinels to guard the slumbering camps, and these watchmen frequently lacked the necessary vigilance they were expected to display, as many a bloody midnight slaughter has sorrowfully proved.
