, and that man was the native
doctor--Arrkroo, the Hater. Even he, powerful and feared though he
was, dared not actually kill Stobart. The other natives would track
their white hero and would soon know everything that had happened, and
Arrkroo was afraid of what they might do to him. The Hater did not
mind so long as Stobart merely hunted and behaved like a native, but
when he started to wander around alone and search for signs of the
glittering yellow metal, Arrkroo became alarmed, and, though the white
man did not know it, his enemy had followed and watched him closely for
weeks.

Arrkroo understood that if once the secret of the ranges was known
beyond the desert, many white men would come with weapons which make a
noise like thunder in the hills and which kill a long way off. They
would drive out the natives who owned the mountain fastnesses, for,
thought the doctor, what does a white man care so long as he can put
that heavy yellow sand in little bags and take it away?

So, for the safety of his people, as well as because he was jealous of
Stobart's power, the Hater was determined that the white man should die.

Stobart stood by the pool and looked at the golden sand. He was more
than ever determined to escape, and now he wanted to take away with him
just enough of that precious metal to prove to others that his story
was true. He wanted so many men to believe him that there would be
such a rush to the Musgraves that they would escape, by sheer force of
numbers, from the terrible fate of the lonely prospectors.

But how could he take that golden sand away? His only garment was a
tattered pair of trousers with the pockets torn out, and a belt at
which hung his fire-sticks, and where he still kept his old black pipe,
though it had been cold and empty for many weeks. He could not
possibly tear his trousers to make a bag, for there was not a single
piece of good cloth left; his hat was no good for the purpose. But his
pipe--ah! that was the thing!

He scraped his pipe clean and then jammed the bowl full of fine gold.
To make sure that the gold was pure, he panned it off in the old rusty
dish which he had unearthed near the half-burnt bones. When he had
filled the pipe nearly to the top, he daubed it over with stiff clay so
that none of the sand could fall out. Then he picked up his weapons
and started back for the camp.

A surprise was waiting for him. The marauding band, which had gone out
against M