happy
Christmases, Bessie. Darling--don't you grieve--it was worth it.
Good-bye."

LOST

"Helm, old man, we 've lost the track!"

"Don't be a howling idiot, man. Lost! how could we be lost? Why, there's
the track right ahead, and pretty fresh too."

But Anderson flung himself off his horse on to the dry crisp grass, and
covered his face with his hands.

"I'll tell you," reiterated his mate, leaning forward in his saddle and
shading his eyes, "I see hoof-marks quite plain. Why, they might have
been made yesterday!"

"They were made yesterday," groaned the other, hopelessly. "Don't you
see, my dear fellow, we made them ourselves."

"What!"

Helm raised his head and swore a passionate oath, then sprang from
his horse, stooped over the faint track, ran wildly along it for a few
yards, turned back, and again cried out that the other was playing some
ghastly joke off on him.

"It's too bad, Anderson, too bad. Get up, man, and don't be a fool. Come
on, there 's very likely water on the other side of that ridge. You'll
feel better after you've had a good drink."

"That's the ridge we passed last night, I tell you. Water--oh, yes,
there's water there, but it's as salt as the sea."

"The salt-pan! No, by heaven, no, I won't believe that. That's miles
behind us!"

"Nevertheless," said the other man, drearily, "it's the same old
salt-pan. You 'll see it the moment we cross the ridge."

"Come on, then, come on. Don't sit groaning there: let's know the worst.
I can't believe it, I won't believe it till I see for myself."

"The horses ought to have a spell if we're ever to get out of this,"
muttered Anderson; but he followed his companion's lead, mounted his
tired horse, and rode slowly on after him towards the still distant
ridge.

Out back beyond the Mulligan is No Man's Land. They had gone out to seek
new country, crossed the Queensland border into South Australia, and
now, old bushman as he was, Anderson had only the vaguest idea of their
whereabouts. Ever since they started it had been the same trouble; the
season had been exceptionally dry, and everywhere the waters were dried
up. First one horse had died, then another, until at last they were
reduced to only three; still they had pushed on, for the blacks told
a tale of a magnificent waterhole where the water was permanent, and
Anderson had a certain amount of faith in the unerring wisdom of the
children of the soil where water was concerned. So he p