to tell us when we're to have a drink and
when we're not to have a drink. I'm thirsty. I'm going to have my
share now.... Here, Yarloo, give me that quart-pot."

He held out his hand, but Yarloo stepped back. "Quart-pot belonga me,"
he said quietly.

The boy's statement was undoubtedly true. The tea was his, saved from
his fair breakfast allowance, and, if he was good enough to part with
it for the sake of the white boys, surely he had a right to dictate his
own terms. Sax and Vaughan at once saw their mistake and began to feel
a little foolish because of the attitude they had tried to take up.
Yarloo was evidently in grim earnest, for he repeated his former
question:

"S'pose me gib it quart-pot, you no drink um till to-morrow sunrise,
eh?"

"All right, Yarloo," agreed Sax. "We'll not drink it till sunrise
to-morrow.... But, look here," he exclaimed suddenly, realizing for
the first time the tremendous sacrifice the black-fellow was making.
"Look here! We mustn't take your tea. It's yours, Yarloo. Yours," he
repeated, in order to make his meaning clear.

But Yarloo had already begun to scrape a hole in the sand. When it was
deep enough, he put the precious quart-pot into it so that it could not
be spilt. "You belonga Boss Stobart," he said slowly. "Boss Stobart
good fella longa me."

He stood up when he had finished and looked at the two boys.
"Goo-bye," he said, and was turning to go, when something prompted Sax
to hold out his hand. Yarloo took it instantly and then shook
Vaughan's hand also,[1] and, in another minute, he was almost out of
sight amongst the ragged scrub.

[1] Blacks do not shake hands when they are in their wild state, but
they quickly pick up the habit from the white man.

CHAPTER XI

Thirst

Sax and Vaughan were very thirsty. For several days they had been
compelled to drink sparingly, and for the last two they had taken only
enough liquid to keep them just alive. They were now entirely without
drink of any kind save for that little drop of tea in a dirty and
battered quart-pot, half buried in the sand. Is it any wonder that
their longing eyes and thoughts were almost constantly fixed on the
pot, which they had promised not to touch till sunrise next day.

While Yarloo had been with them, the white boys had kept up a good
appearance of courage, and had pretended that they were not so thirsty
as they really were, for no man likes to give in before a member