e carriage and looked at the crowd. It was seven years
since Sax had seen his father, but he felt sure he would recognize him
instantly; and, besides, it was such a rare thing for two strange lads
to come up on the Far North train, that if anyone had been there to
meet them, he would have had no trouble in picking them out.

But no one came forward. In vain did the drover's son compare the
picture of his father which he had in his mind, with one after the
other of the men under the veranda. Men, tall, thin, and bearded there
certainly were, and more than one had that stamp of the desert on his
face, which never wears off.

"Can't you see him, Sax?" asked his companion anxiously.

"Not yet. He's somewhere at the back, most likely. We'll wait a tick
and see."

So they waited, and in those minutes the lads felt more lonely than
they had ever done in their lives before. The thought would insist on
presenting itself:

"Suppose he doesn't come! What then?" The nearest person they really
knew was five days away. In front of them was a little crowd of people
who knew each other well, but who had never seen the boys before, and
all around was the vast unsympathetic silence of the desert which came
in and oppressed the boys even in the dark.

Presently a man in badly creased white trousers and very thin shirt,
open all the way down, came past. He stopped and looked up at the
boys. "Waiting for somebody?" he asked pleasantly.

"Yes, we are," said Sax, who was usually the spokesman of the pair when
strangers were concerned. "Can you tell me, please, if Mr. Stobart is
about?"

"Stobart? If it's Boss Stobart you're waiting for, I'm afraid you'll
be disappointed."

"Why?" Both boys uttered the word of dismay at the same time.

"Well, you see," went on the man, "we expected him the day before
yesterday. He's never late, so I wired up the road. I'm his agent,
you know. They haven't heard of him south of Horseshoe Bend."

"What! Is he lost, then?" asked Sax in an incredulous voice. His
hero, his father, lost? Impossible!

"Bless you, no. He's never lost. He must have taken a fresh track at
the Bend, that's all. Feed and water and that sort of thing. By the
way, who are you?"

"I'm his son," said Sax, simply and proudly, "and this is my friend.
Father said he'd meet this train."

"His son, are you? Oh, well, you may depend upon it, he's not far away
if he said he'd meet you. But he didn't come i