He pointed ahead to a blur of dust on the track, which resolved itself into Mr. Linton and two men, riding slowly behind some cattle. Murty glanced over his shoulder at the same instant.
“Will I pull up, Mr. Jim?”
“Just for a moment,” Jim said, hesitating. “Dad won’t want much of an explanation.”
Not much was needed. The racing hoofs and the grave faces told their own story, as Mr. Linton checked his horse beside the road. Jim was brief, in answer to his father’s hasty question.
“What’s wrong?”
“Snake,” he said. “He got Wally on the hand. We’re off to Dr. Anderson.”
“You’ve done all you can, of course?” Mr. Linton asked quickly.
“Yes—everything. Haven’t lost any time, either.”
“Well, Anderson’s not there,” Mr. Linton said. “I saw his motor going out along the Mulgoa road half an hour ago. But go in; Mrs. Anderson may know what to do, or where to send for him. Murty can go for him. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can catch him now; there’s no knowing where he may have pulled up. You’ve got stimulants?”
“Two Thermos flasks of strong black coffee,” Norah said.