thering darkness:
"Hul--lo--uh!"

In a few minutes Mick Darby rode up. He saw Yarloo, and the
smouldering needle-bush, and knew that something was wrong.

"What name?" he asked.

"White boy close up finish," replied Yarloo, still taking care of the
quart-pot of dark water.

"Close up finish?" echoed Mick in surprise. "What name you no sit down
longa that camp same as me yabber (as I told you)?"

Yarloo tried to explain, but his vocabulary of white man's words was
too small. He broke off at last and said: "White boy, they yabber
(they'll tell you)."

"But white boy close up finish," objected the drover.

"No finish now," grinned Yarloo, pointing to the other burnt
needle-bushes near. "No finish now. Him good fella now, quite."

This relieved Mick's mind greatly, and he set off at once, guided by
Yarloo, to the bough-shelter where Sax and Vaughan were sitting. It
was a very happy reunion. The boys were still weak, but the thirst,
which would have killed them if the stranger black-fellow had not put
that sprig of needle-bush in the quart-pot, was quite gone. They were
very hungry. A fire was soon lit, and neither of the lads had ever
enjoyed a meal so much as they did that one. The food was plain,
though much better than what they had been having for the past weeks.
The bread had been made with yeast, which makes it far nicer than
baking-powder damper, and the Sidcotinga cook had included a few
currant buns with the tucker. The story of their adventures was told
at length and gone over more than once, for each boy supplied what the
other did not remember, and there had been many hours during which
Vaughan's memory had recorded nothing.

One thing, however, remained a secret. Only Sax knew about it, and he
obeyed his father's injunction not to tell anybody of his whereabouts.
He did not tell Mick that the strange nigger who had saved their lives
had mentioned the name Boss Stobart.

Yarloo came in for his share of praise, and richly did he deserve it.
The black-boy sat down with the white men after tea and listened to
what was said without making any remarks, and with a stolid expression.
But when, just before they all turned in for the night, Mick handed him
a new pipe, a box of matches, and--greatest luxury of all--a tin of
cut-up tobacco, he beamed all over his honest black face and grunted
his supreme satisfaction with the gift. He did not think that he had
done anything heroic; he had acted so