ole's dry,
and the one back of that's nearly a hundred miles from here.... So it
must be Sidcotinga.... Let's see. We've got two and a half gallons of
water, haven't we?"

The boys confirmed this estimate, and he went on:

"We needn't worry about tucker. We've got mobs of flour and sugar....
The question is: who's to ride ahead for water and horses. You lads
don't know the way, so it's either Yarloo or me.... Yarloo's lighter
on a horse than I am.... But he couldn't do as much as I could when he
got there, supposing they were all out on the run.... Still, I could
write a note to the cook, couldn't I?" He paused, considering, drawing
in great breaths of smoke and puffing it out again on the still hot air
till his head was surrounded by a cloud.

Yarloo was drawing blackfellow diagrams in the sand with a little
stick, and looked as though he had made up his mind. So he had, but he
waited for the white man to ask him for his opinion before giving it.

"What you think, Yarloo?" asked Mick, after a time. "You think it me
or you ride Ajax longa Sidcotinga, bring um back water, horses, eh?"

Yarloo did not hesitate for a moment. "You ride, boss," he said
decidedly. "You ride. Me stay here."

The tone surprised Mick, and he looked up quickly. "What name?
(Why?)" he asked.

"White man drink more water nor black fella," he explained. "S'pose me
stay, me drink little, little drop. Me think you drink big mob." He
hesitated and dug the little stick into the ground with an embarrassed
air. The boy had evidently got another reason, and his listeners
wanted to hear it. He looked at Mick as if he didn't know whether he
ought to say it or not, and then he blurted out: "You good white man
all right, boss. You know um bush more better not big mob white men.
(You know the bush better than most white men.) Yarloo know um bush
much more better nor you, boss. Me bin grow up little piccaninny longa
bush.... S'pose--s'pose you no come back.... S'pose you fall off
horse.... S'pose you die, p'raps me find um water." He paused again,
but it was clear that he had not finished.

"Good, Yarloo," said Mick encouragingly. "Go ahead."

"One time me work longa Boss Stobart," said the boy slowly and
hesitatingly. "Him altogether good boss. Him plenty good quite. That
one white boy," he pointed to Sax, "that one white boy, him belonga my
old boss. Him belonga Boss Stobart.... Me stay, Misser Darby? You
let Yarloo