ere was
a sickening click. The man's head went back like the lid of a box. He
fell to the ground, quivered for a moment, and then lay still.

It all happened in the time taken to blink twice.

The crowd surged back. A gasp of astonishment went up. In a couple of
seconds Stobart was alone with his fallen enemy. The man was gasping.
If Stobart had not been weakened by the life and food of the blacks'
camp, that blow would have killed Arrkroo, although the neck of a
native is as strong as the neck of a bull. The drover stood looking
down at the grotesquely painted figure huddled up on the ground at his
feet. It began to twitch. The eyes rolled round and then fixed their
gaze on Stobart. Strength returned quickly to the native and he
staggered to his feet. For a moment he faced the white man, swaying
unsteadily, then he turned and went away to his wurley, leaving the
drover victor on the field where he had so nearly met his death.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Conclusion

That night Yarloo returned to camp. The sky was so thickly covered
with stars that it looked as if powdered silver had been dusted over a
tremendous and very dark blue dome. Stobart was fast asleep at the
entrance to his cave when Yarloo crept up noiselessly and touched him.
He was awake and alert in a moment. The boy's head showed up dark
against the stars and the white man recognized him at once.

"Me come back, Misser Stobart," whispered Yarloo.

"Good boy," replied the drover. "Good boy. Does the camp know you're
here?"

"Neh. Me come longa you first time. They all about sleep."

Then Yarloo told all that he had done since he went away. Stobart was
overjoyed to hear that his son was safe, and hope, which had burnt down
very low recently, once more flamed up brightly in his heart. Yarloo
had hurried out from Sidcotinga Station, and was too exhausted to
undertake the return trip immediately or they would have escaped that
very night. They decided to wait for a day or two.

In this they made a great mistake. If Stobart had disappeared that
night, while every native in the camp was overawed by his victory over
the powerful Arrkroo, he would probably have got clean away, but as it
was, he found himself more of a prisoner than ever next morning.
Yarloo's return aroused suspicion. Every native in the tribe was
afraid of the white man and nobody dared to kill him. Yet they were
all perfectly convinced that he was the cause of Wuntoo