Then he stopped and awaited the coming of the rearmost camel, which was lagging painfully, and addressed its attendant in similar tones.
"An hour or so more will do it, my lad—only an hour or so more. Golden Flat should be just over the horizon."
"Say, boss," came the answer, "this here fiery animile is 'bout busted; but I reckon I'll pull him in somehow."
He groped about in some hidden recess of his well-ventilated shirt, and extricated a small shining instrument, which he placed to his lips with a smile of real joy.
"Now, boys," he cried, "here we goes again—one, two, three!" and at once the strains of a favourite melody echoed out in the air.
The bulk of his companions shuddered at the opening shock, then joined boisterously in the chorus. Loudly, triumphantly, they bellowed forth in varying voices and keys, and, lo! the camels pricked up their ears and quickened their steps, and the weary-eyed singers and chief musician marched to the tune thus given with sprightly step—
"Soon we'll be in London town.
Sing, my lads, yo ho-o——"
Again and again the cheering refrain was taken up; then suddenly a cry of astonishment burst from the lips of a lithe and wiry young man who had been on the point of consulting his note-book for the twentieth time since he took his noonday altitude.
"We've missed it!" he cried. "That must be Kalgoorlie ahead."