hful to one man, first and last, and that man was Boss Stobart.
Therefore it was probably not only Yarloo's naturally fine spirit which
prompted him to stick to his companions when they were in trouble, but
also the fact that one of them was the son of his real Boss. He felt
that Sax was definitely in his own personal charge, and, though his
simple mind did not know how it could possibly be brought about, he
felt that some day he would be the means of reuniting father and son.

Mick Darby also proved himself equal to the occasion. In fact the
sheer manhood of him rose supreme above every difficulty and triumphed
over one disaster after another. There are some men whose stories are
far greater than their actual achievements, and at times, when the
drover had been telling yarns to the boys after sunset, they had
wondered whether these things could possibly be true. It was not that
they doubted their friend's veracity, but the country, the men, and
therefore the happenings were so strange to the lads that they seemed
to have an existence only in books and not to be possible in real life.
But now Mick showed the stuff he was made of. When he had found out
all there was to learn, about what the blacks had done, and exactly
what position the party was left in, he stopped thinking about that
part of the question and set his mind to solve the problem of the
immediate future.

The first necessity was breakfast, and they ate heartily and drank
sparingly, but enough to quench their thirst. Then Mick beckoned to
Yarloo to sit down near him, handed his plug to the boy, and when he
had broken off a pipeful, he jammed his own black brier to the brim and
started to smoke. When he started to speak, he did so equally to all
three men, black and white alike. Yarloo had definitely and of his own
free will chosen to share whatever fate was in store for them, and had
earned the right to be included in everything which they did. The boy
did not presume on this unusual act of the white man; it is only a
weak-spirited man who presumes.

"I reckon we're eighty miles from Sidcotinga Station. You think it,
Yarloo?" asked Mick, turning to the boy.

The native faced in the direction of the station and considered,
counting on his fingers. "Yah," he said at length. "Yah. Me think it
two day ride, boss."

"Two days with a fresh horse, you mean," commented Mick. "Ajax hasn't
had a drink for a whole day, remember.... That last water-h