"Very well, Jacky," said Grainger, "I'll leave the revolver behind. What are we going to do?"
"First, short-hobble horses, and let 'em feed--plenty grass 'bout here. Then you follow me. I think it that them fellow myall camp" (rest) "'bout two mile up creek."
"How many are there, Jacky?"
"'Bout twenty, boss--perhaps thirty. And I think it that some feller runaway policeman with them--Sandy or Daylight, I beleeb."
"What makes you think that?" said Grainger, instantly remembering that Lamington had said that he meant to try and head off Sandy and his myalls down into the spinifex country.
"Come here, boss."
Grainger followed him to the margin of the creek, which although at dawn had been running half bank high, owing to the tremendous downpour of rain, was now at its normal level.
"Lo
