In a short time the friendly water-hole and the ghastly scrub beside it were left behind, but the patch of open country unfortunately proved to be of very limited extent in the direction they were going, and in a short time they found themselves again entangled in the dense scrub, which was now becoming such a formidable obstacle to their progress. Towards the middle of the day, the sanguine Morton began to despair of pushing on, even at the slow rate at which they were going, and to meditate a return to their last night's camp and a fresh start in a new direction. At noon they were compelled to halt; the desert hedge-wood had now made its appearance, and the barrier presented by it was almost impenetrable.
They stopped for a hasty meal, and when it was finished, Morton said to Brown:
"What do you say, old man? Will you go north for a bit, and I will go south, and we'll see if there is anything like a gap in this confounded scrub?"
"My dear old boy I am entirely at your disposal. But allow me to suggest that we shall get along infinitely better on foot."
"I think so too. Charlie, you and Billy stop here with the horses until we come back."
It was a good two hours before the cracking of branches and muttered bad language, coming from the south, announced to Charlie and Billy the return of Morton.
"How did you get on?" was the query.
"Get on!" returned Morton savagely; "I did not get on at all. I don't believe I got half a mile from here. It's the worst old-man scrub I was ever in in my life; I've barked my hands nicely. If old Brown did not get on any better than I did, we shall have to go and chop him out with an axe."
Almost as he spoke, Billy held up his hand and said:
"Mitter Brown come up."