"No!" said Smith, with his hand in the grey ashes, "it hasn't rained here since it was lighted."
"And when was the last rain 'ere?" asked the Baker cheerfully.
Smith looked at the dried grass, and tore up a thin tussock.
"Not so very long," he answered. "But the blacks who lighted it may be a hundred miles off, and that would lick us. And if we found them they would most likely spear us."
"It ain't certain," said Mandeville.
"No!" answered Smith. "But probable."
And rising, he took up his swag, and walked on side by side with his chum.
"It's likely they will stay by the billabong," he said. "There may be fish in it, and there's sure to be fish in the river. And though we have seen very few kangaroos, yet there'll be plenty about somewhere. We may strike them yet."
He walked a little faster at the notion.
"If I have to live on grubs out of a rotten stump, I'll live," he said. And hope gave him more strength. He walked better, though he felt light-headed.