ne off the run?" asked Sax.
"Is it fenced?"

Mick Darby laughed heartily. "Fenced!" he exclaimed. "Fenced! Oh my
hat! No, lad, there's not a fence between here and glory, except round
a little bit of a paddock where they keep the working horses over
night. Why, d'you know that to fence Sidcotinga Station you'd need
nearly four hundred miles of fencing? There's no timber for the posts
in this part of the country, and as for wire---- No, they don't use
fences in Central Australia."

This was such a new point of view to the boys, that during the
afternoon's ride they asked innumerable questions of their kind-hearted
friend. They heard that cattle are kept on any particular run because
of the impossibility of their wandering more than a certain distance
away from their water-hole. In fact, a run is made up of permanent
waters and the area of country around them. There may be any amount of
good feed on other parts of the run, but unless it is within reach of
water it is absolutely useless.

The only chance that cattle have of straying is after rain, which falls
very, very seldom in Central Australia. When it does fall, the stock
wander off to new feeding-grounds, and may become stranded when the
surface waters dry up. The stockmen are very busy at such times,
tracking up cattle and bringing them back to their accustomed haunts.

All this and much more the boys learnt as they rode along, and although
it seemed so new to them, there was a splendid sense that they were in
it all, and that soon they would know these things from actual
experience.

An experience of Central Australian life which might have ended fatally
was to come to them sooner than they expected. Seeing that they were
now on Sidcotinga Station country, and that they had not been molested
for six days, Mick decided to let the horses go without being watched
that night, taking the precaution of tying up his own saddle-horse in
case of need.

Next morning all the boys had run away except Yarloo. He went out with
a bridle at dawn and returned with the news that every one of the
horses had been speared.

CHAPTER IX

Disaster

Breakfast was being prepared in camp when Yarloo brought in the
terrible news. Mick Darby was greasing a couple of pack-girths,
Vaughan was mixing a damper, and Sax was attending to the seven
quart-pots near the fire and laying out the tucker on a clean bag.
When Yarloo came in with his bridle in his hand, he d