"We're off the road. Listen!"
The rain was seeping down on the bush; in the grey evening, the warm horses smelt of their own steam. Jack could hear nothing except the wind and the increasing rain.
"This track must lead somewhere. Let's get to shelter for the night," said Jack.
"Agreed!" replied Tom magnanimously. "We'll follow on, and see what we shall see."
They walked slowly, pulling at the pack-horse, which was dragging at the rope, tired with the burden that grew every minute heavier with the rain.
Tom reined in suddenly.
"There is somebody behind," he said. "It's not the wind."
They sat there on their horses in the rain, and waited. Twilight was falling. Then Jack could distinguish the sound of a cart behind. It was Rackett in the old shay rolling along in the lonely dusk and rain, through the trees, approaching. Black Sam grinned mightily as he pulled up.
"Thought I'd follow, though you are on the wrong road," said Rackett from beneath his black waterproof. "Sam showed me the turning two miles back. You missed it. Anyhow we'd better camp in on these people ahead here."
"Is there a place ahead?" asked Jack.