“There, sir—that was food,” cried Shaddy; “and a gentleman who knows all about such things, as Mr Brazier does, would find them and keep himself going. Now it’s your turn. Shout, sir.”
Rob uttered as loud a cry as he could, and then twice over imitated the Australian “cooee,” following it up with a shrill piercing note from a little silver whistle; but the only response was the cry of an ara, one of the great scarlet and blue long-tailed macaws, whose harsh shriek came softened from the distance.
“Not right yet, Mr Rob, sir,” said Shaddy, quietly; “but we’re not going to despair, boy. I aren’t a religious man your way, but after my fashion I trust in God and take the rough with the smooth. What is to be will be, so don’t let’s kick against it. We’ve got our duty to do, my lad, and that’s to keep on trying. Now then, what do you say to a bit of a snack?”
“No, no—not yet, Shaddy; let’s go on.”
“Right, my lad.”
They started again, and pressed on through the breathless heat of the woods, but without finding further sign of any one having passed that way; and at last Shaddy stopped short on the banks of a running stream, which impeded farther progress, and whose waters offered refreshing draughts to those who were getting in sore need.
“We’re off his track, Mr Rob. He’s not likely to have crossed a river like this; but welcome it is, for it shows us the way back just when I was getting a bit muddled.”
“How does it?” said Rob, wonderingly.
“Because it must flow into the big river somewhere below our camp.”
“Then you have seen no traces of him lately?”