"The chronometer is right," said he, sadly; then, as his comrades looked at him questioningly, he faltered: "I've done my best, boys ... the fault may not be altogether mine, but ... I am responsible to you.... What can you think of me——?" He gave way completely.
Then out spoke Emu Bill, and his voice rang firm and true—
"Shoot me fur a dingo if I'll listen to you miscallin' yourself, Bob. You has shown us afore what ye were made o', an' hang me for a cross-eyed Chinese if I'll believe you've made the mistake."
"I'm right with ye thar, Bill," grunted Never Never.
Bob looked at them in silent gratitude that was more potent than words.
"Blow me!" blurted out the Shadow, "this ain't no funeral circus." He strode aside and examined the canvas bags overlapping Remorse's tough hide; they were flat and empty, the last drop had gone. He rejoined the little circle quietly, and held out his hand to Bob, who was gazing with unseeing eyes into the horizon. "I knows it ain't your fault," he said simply.
Jack alone had not spoken, but Bob knew his comrade's thoughts; he knew the loyal courage and devotion of the boy's heart.
And all this time Mackay had not come back, nor had any welcome signal been heard. Bob commenced to fear that he would not come back unless he had something to report.
"What did ye mean by sayin' the chronometer was right, Bob?" asked Emu Bill, suddenly.
"If it had gone fast or slow, my longitude, which I calculated by it, would have been out accordingly," replied Bob, listlessly. "I thought the jolting might have affected it."