Part 2 (2/2)

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 s.h.i.+rt, 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 in to-day. I know that for a cert. You'd better come over to the hotel and let me fix you up for the night. My name's Archer--Joe Archer. I've got a store here and manage your father's business at this end.”

The kind-hearted storekeeper handed the boys over to the care of the hotel-keeper's wife, who soon set a meal of boiled goat and potatoes before them. Their intense disappointment at not meeting Mr. Stobart had not lessened their appet.i.tes, and they a.s.sured one another that they would see him in a few days, probably on the very next morning.

After their tea they went straight to their room, a little box of a place with a window looking out over a yard where a horse was standing perfectly still and breathing heavily, fast asleep. The friends talked for a time and then blew out the candle.

Scarcely had they done so, when they heard a tapping on the window.

They took no notice. It came again. Tap--tap--tap. It could not possibly have been an accident.

”What's that, Sax?” whispered Vaughan.

”Blest if I know,” answered his companion from the other bed. ”Shall I light the candle again?”

”Let's wait a bit and see,” suggested Boof.

The taps came again, this time louder, and were followed by a cough.

Sax struck a match. His hand shook so much that he could hardly light the candle, but whether it was from fear or from excitement cannot be told. The light flared up, went down again, and then burned bright and steady.

Suddenly a man's head and shoulders appeared at the window. It was a n.i.g.g.e.r. For a moment both lads stared at the apparition with startled eyes. But the man did not do anything. He was just waiting till their surprise died down. His face was not at all as forbidding as the one they had seen at Coward Springs. He was wearing an old felt hat and a dirty s.h.i.+rt, and though he had hair all over his face, there was something about him which proclaimed him to be a young man.

After a few moments of absolute stillness and silence, they saw the hair on his face move, and a row of beautiful white teeth showed in a most engaging smile. Then came the words: ”Which one Stobart?”

The lads had never heard an aboriginal speak before. The sound was guttural, but there was no mistaking the words: ”Which one Stobart?”

Sax started forward and the black seemed to scrutinize his features intently. ”You Stobart?” he asked.

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