CHAPTER XXVII.
Home Again.
The trip next morning was a promising one. The creek kept a continued and well-watered course for about fifteen miles, running through well-grassed downs country all the way. The place was burnt black with the fire, but that did not hide the value of the country. Gradually the scrub, which they had lost sight of for some time, closed in on both sides, and it was evident that the creek would soon run out, once it entered the scrub. They were back in camp in time to take a short ride up the creek, and ascertain that there was nothing worth troubling about in that direction. Brown fossicked out the remains of the brandy when they had finished their meal.
"Now, then," he said, when they had all put some in their pannikins, "we must christen the new run. What's it to be? You speak first, Charlie."
"Warlatta Downs."
"Good!" said Morton; "we can't better that. Here's good luck to Warlatta Downs."
"Now for the gold reef," said Brown.
There was silence whilst each thought of a suitable name.
"Suppose we call it after Stuart, who was really the first finder of it."