camp. But the loss of the remaining horses was a
serious matter, and after a brief discussion it was resolved to first
make a thorough search along the creek for another mile before giving
up any hopes of finding them in the vicinity of the scrub. Then, if
no traces could be found, they were to return to the camp for their
saddles, and Jacky and Grainger would endeavour to pick up their tracks
as soon as daylight broke.

An hour was spent fruitlessly, and they turned back and made for the
camp, Scott and Grainger riding barebacked, and Jacky going ahead on
foot, leading the lame horse. Presently they came to a deep, rocky
gully, which they crossed, and were carefully ascending the steep bank
when Scott's horse tripped over a loose stone and fell heavily, with his
rider underneath.

Jacky and Grainger at once went to his assistance and got the horse
away, but Scott lay perfectly motionless, and when spoken to did not
answer. Grainger, like all good bushmen, had kept his matches dry, and,
striking a light, he saw that the big digger had not only received some
injury to his head, but, worse still had broken his leg; the bone had
snapped completely across half-way down from the knee.

For quite ten minutes the poor fellow remained unconscious, then, when
he came to his senses, his first question was about the horse. Was he
hurt?

"No, Dick; but your leg is broken."

The language that flowed from Mr. Scott's bearded lips cannot possibly
be set down, but he resigned himself cheerfully to Grainger and Jacky
when they put the broken limb into rough splints made of bark and twigs
to keep it in position until they could do something better on their
arrival at the camp.

Refusing to be carried, Scott dragged himself up the bank, and then
allowed them to lift him on Euchre's back, Grainger riding and Jacky
walking beside him.

By the time they reached the camp it was broad daylight, and an alarmed
look came into Grainger's eyes when there was no response to his loud
_Coo-ee!_ thrice repeated.

Suddenly Jacky, whose dark eyes were rolling unnaturally as he glanced
all around him, let go the horse he was leading, sprang forward, and
entered the tent. He reappeared in a moment.

"What is wrong, Jacky? Where is she?"

"Gone," was the quick reply. "Myall blackfellow been here and take her
away!"

"Good God!" said Grainger hoarsely, feeling for the moment utterly
unnerved as he watched the black-boy walk quickly round and