"This plain seems fairly well grassed," said Morton as they rode across. "Wonder how far it extends?"
"We'll find out before we get back. But country is not of much value out here just now, no matter how good it is."
"No, worse luck; you and I know that to our cost."
When they reached the rock they separated, Brown going north and Morton south. Following the edge along, without going into all the dips and bends, Morton went on until he reckoned he had covered some six miles. The limestone rock pursued much the same course to the southward, but the forest and the continuation of the chain of lagoons at its edge bore in towards the rock, and it was evident that the two would meet in time.
Morton rode over to the edge of the timber, and found that the water-course there was still well supplied with occasional pools of water. He could see no tracks of blacks there, nor were there any marks on the rock: all was lifeless and lonely, save for the tireless kites. As he rode back, however, he caught sight of a bird high up in the air steadily flying to the west. He recognized it as an eagle-hawk, and was astonished to see others following, all flying in the same direction. Then the discordant note of a crow came to him, and a flock of the black creatures flew past, conversing in the peculiar guttural croak common to crows when on the wing. They, too, were going across the rock to the westward.
"Hang me, if there isn't a rendezvous over there somewhere of all the carrion birds in the district," said Morton.
He rode on and found Brown at the meeting-place, he having got back sooner. His experience had been somewhat similar for the first few miles; then the country changed, a low stunted forest obtruded from the east, and the ground became hard, stony, and barren, save for patches of spinifex.[[1]] The limestone rock, too, became more uneven and broken, and it was evident that he had approached the verge of the formation they were then traversing; probably, he thought, the change would result in a large expanse of desert, spinifex country.
[[1]] A wiry, prickly grass, useless as fodder.
"We could get round that way," he remarked, "without having to cross this rock."
"Better stick to the track; then we know we are going straight to wherever these triangle men came from," replied Morton.