"But what in thunder is we to do?" complained Nuggety Dick. "If we had a horse we could beat him; but the camels are too mighty slow."
"Ah, now you've struck it," agreed Mackay. "But ye must remember it's a seventy-mile dry stretch from here to Kalgoorlie, an' their horses are pretty well knocked up now. It should take them a good two days to do it, even if they force for all they're worth."
At this stage the Shadow pushed his way forward. "I knows what Mackay is thinking," said he; "but I'm the man for the job, an' I'm goin' to do it too."
"Do ye think ye could manage, Shad?" asked Mackay, earnestly. "I'm no goin' to mak' a single remark aboot your bushmanship, for you've well proved your abilities in that direction, but, my lad, it's a job for a strong man, an' I meant to tak' it on mysel'."
"Ye doesn't know how powerful I is on the trot," said the lithe young bushman; "an' if it comes to strength, I reckon I is no chicken, either."
He bared his right arm proudly, and showed the swelling muscles which his tattered shirt-sleeve covered.
"Why, what does ye mean to do?" demanded Nuggety, like his near neighbours, somewhat bewildered. "Does ye mean to walk?"
"Give me a water-bag in my fist, and I'll pretty soon show you," came the quick retort. "I'll bet a tug at old Dead Broke's whiskers that I'm in before the buggy all right."
It seemed a hopeless plan, yet, owing to the arid and sandy nature of the country to be traversed, it was not as hopeless as it looked.