"Harry's inside advising Bill as to the last stages of the turkey," laughed Stephens.
"Helping him light up his fire, I should think," said Downes, glancing keenly at the hut. "There's no smoke." He looked puzzled. "Wonder if the old chap is out after cattle—let's give him a coo-ee."
They shouted, and as there was no response they shook their horses into a canter. The mules looked up at them uninterestedly as they dashed up; then they resumed feeding. Something in the utter stillness of the place caught at the boys' hearts and stilled their merry voices.
"Hold my horse a minute, Dick." Downes flung his bridle across. "I'm going in."
He ran up to the hut. As he did so old Harry limped out, with a face so ashen that the boy cried out in alarm.
"Harry! What's wrong?"
The old man was looking at Dick.
"Don't let that kid come," he said. "Get him home—quick. They've got Bill and Fox."
"Got them? Who? What do you mean?"
"The blacks. They're there—in their bunks—speared."