was not a namby-pamby new-chum as he
had suspected, but was one whose name and deeds were known and talked
about from one end of the country to the other.

"That one?" exclaimed the black-fellow in surprise.

"You no bin know um that one, eh? Him Boss Stobart. Big fella drover.
Him bin walk about this country since me little fella. Him big fella
drover all right, altogether, quite."

The "big fella" drover rode over to the cattle and, instead of starting
them due south along the Great North Stock Route, he gave them a drink
at Horseshoe Bend troughs and then set out west. For several days he
and his black-boys travelled the mob through country which he knew
well, and he managed to find enough dry grass and bush to keep the
animals in fair condition, and enough water to give them a drink every
other day.

He was making towards the Musgrave Ranges, knowing that the great mass
of high country which loomed on the western horizon day after day was
sure to have water-holes and gullies full of cattle-feed along the base
of it. One day he watered the cattle at a little water-hole surrounded
by box trees, under a low stony rise, and put them on camp in the open
and arranged the watches. It was still an hour before sunset when Boss
Stobart, after giving the cattle a final inspection, was riding back to
camp to make a damper and cook a bucket of meat, when he was startled
by seeing a boot track. They were in totally uninhabited country, and
the sight was just as startling as a naked black-fellow in the middle
of Sydney in the busy part of the day would be.

He followed it for a yard or two. The footprints turned outwards. A
white man had made those tracks. They were only about a day old. What
was a white man on foot doing in such a place? The drover stopped and
looked back. The line of tracks was crooked and seemed as if a
staggering man had made it, but the general direction was from the
north. Stobart rode on slowly and thoughtfully. The wandering tracks
led to a little clump of mulga trees about a couple of hundred yards
away from the water-hole.

Suddenly the old stock-horse which the man was riding drew back and
snorted with alarm. Something was moving in those trees. Stobart
urged the horse on. Just at the edge of the clump of scraggy timber
the animal shied again. A man's shirt was lying on the ground.
Trousers and boots were a little distance away, and then an old
battered felt hat was found uptu