"It seems that Fate meant to destroy all traces of the Warlattas in one act," said Morton, as they sat on their horses and gazed at all that was left of the cemetery of the cannibals.
"How was it this never happened before?" remarked Brown.
"I don't understand. They must have kept it burnt down short every year, and neglected it for some reason. However, I'm not sorry, for if this country extends any distance south I shall take it up."
"Well, let's get to camp before it's dark. There will be enough grass unburnt about the waterhole for our horses to-night."
This proved to be the case, and the cheery camp-fire was soon blazing brightly and everybody chatting in good spirits.
"If you think seriously of taking up this bit of country, we might as well explore it to-morrow now we are here. The horses will be better for the rest, for remember, as far as we know, there is not a drop of water between here and the station—a good hundred miles," said Brown.
"That thunder-storm has been along here by the look of it. It should have put some water in some of those clay-pans we passed."
"Thunder-storms are mighty uncertain things to trust to. They generally fall, as a rule, just where they are no good to any one. We must travel, when we start, as though it was dry the whole way, although I think with you that we shall find water."
"As it now stands," said Morton, drawing his blanket over his shoulders, "the only real evidence we have to show that the Warlattas ever existed, is this cleared road in the scrub."
"And the wound in Billy's leg," murmured Charlie, drowsily.