under the shade of a clump of stunted sandalwood,
which had, in good seasons, been a favourite mustering camp, and looked
about him, and then he passed his hand over his eyes to shut out for a
few moments the melancholy spectacle before him.

I have said that he pulled up "almost" under shelter; further he could
not advance, for the hard, parched ground immediately under the shade of
the sandalwoods was thickly covered by the stiffened sun-dried carcasses
of some hundreds of dead cattle, which, having become too weak to leave
the sheltering trees in search of food and water had lain down and died.
Beyond, scattered singly and about in twos and threes, were the remains
of scores of other wretched beasts, which, unable to drag themselves
either to the sandy river-bed or to the scanty shade of the stunted
timber, had perished where they fell.

With a heavy sigh Harrington dismounted, took off his water-bag from the
saddle, and pouring a little water into his hat, gave his horse a drink.
Then he drank a few mouthfuls himself, filled and lit his pipe, and sat
down, to rest awhile until the sun had lost its fierce intensity--and
think.

And he thought despairingly of the black prospect which for the past
six or seven months had tormented him by day, and haunted him at night,
broken now and then with a gleam of hope when the pitiless blue of
the sky changed to grey, and rain seemed near, only to be followed by
renewed and bitter disappointment.

"It cannot last much longer," he thought; "even if rain came within
a week the rest of the poor brutes left alive will be too weak to
recover--and there's not hands enough on the station to cut leaves for
them. Even the blacks have cleared out lower down the river... found a
good water-hole I daresay, and, like wise niggers, are camping there.
Why doesn't Providence give a poor honest bullock as much show for his
life in a drought as a damned, filthy blackfellow! Instead of hoofs--in
this part of the country at any rate--cattle ought to have feet like a
bandicoot, then the poor beasts could worry along by digging waterholes
in the river bed."

Then, sick at heart as he was, a faint smile flitted over his
sun-bronzed face at the fancy.

An hour passed, and Harrington, with another weary sigh, rose and
saddled his horse--one of the few now remaining to him and able to carry
a rider. Five miles away from the sandalwood camp was another and larger
patch of timber--tall, slender brig