t nobody objected to his
solitary expeditions. But Stobart had a more important reason for his
wanderings than bringing home dead game. He was looking forward to the
day when everything would be ready for a successful escape from the
Musgrave Ranges, and he was determined to take away with him something
more than his bare life: he meant to take the secret of the Musgrave
gold.

At first, when he started to go out alone, he always returned at night,
but gradually he accustomed the camp to his absence for longer periods,
till he was able at last to carry out his investigations unhindered.
He found many traces of gold, but as he had no tools, and did not want
to arouse any suspicions as to the real object of his journeys, he was
not able to tell whether the traces lead to any larger deposits. There
were little gullies which ran water in times of storm, where specks of
the glittering metal could easily be seen in the sand; and quartz
boulders stained with what looked like rust, here and there on a
scrub-covered hill-side; and little cracks in the sheer face of a cliff
where veins of dirty red ran about like the marks in marble. The
Ranges were evidently a very rich "prospect", and it was no wonder that
white men had braved the desert and the men who lived there, for the
lure of gold is the strongest of all, and men die willingly in
answering its call.

CHAPTER XXV

The Outpost of Death

One day Stobart set out in a new direction. His only articles of dress
were a pair of trousers, so ragged and torn that they did not reach
below his knees, and an old felt hat. His shirt had been torn up into
strips to bandage his bleeding feet before they had become accustomed
to walking without boots. He carried two spears, a woomera, and a
boomerang, while an appliance for making fire hung at his belt.

He walked till it was nearly dark that day, then made a fire near a
rock-hole, cooked and ate a lizard, and went to sleep. When he awoke
the sun had not yet risen. The surrounding mountains were clearly
outlined against the pale early morning sky, and when the white man had
stooped to drink and had made up the fire, he sat down and looked idly
around him, waiting for it to be light enough for him to hunt for his
breakfast.

It was a strange position for a white man to be in, and if Stobart had
not had a stout heart he would have given way to despair, and either
"gone bush" entirely, as some white men have done, and b