Mackay laughed. "The back or the club, Shadow?" said he; whereat the sorrowful youngster arose painfully to his feet, and communed with himself in language deep and eloquent.
"Where in thunder has Never Never gone?" cried Emu Bill, anxiously, as they looked in vain for the well-known figure of the bushman.
"He was beside me when that last rush came on," said Jack, almost tearfully. "I didn't see what happened to any one after that."
"Dave! Dave!" cried Emu Bill, and there was a quiver in his voice which sounded strangely on his lips. "Where are you, Dave?"
Then a thin, weak voice answered out of the gloom by the ravine.
"I is right here, Bill, old man, right here."
And there they found him, lying aslant on the loose débris as he had fallen, an inert mass. His face was upturned to the sky, and his breath issued between his clenched teeth in long spasmodic jerks. He smiled feebly as they bent over him.
"I'm sent for this trip, boys," he murmured.
"Don't say that, Dave," groaned Emu Bill, in anguish; "you ain't goin' to leave your old comrade, Dave?"
Mackay knelt down by the stricken man and placed his hand over the feebly beating heart, and a hoarse cry of pain burst from his lips, which was echoed by the sad little group around.