‘Put them to track cattle, horses, or sheep, and after half a day they began to grow weary or careless; but with a human quarry ahead every eye was unerring, every muscle was tireless. Clue after clue was checked off with unvarying certainty, the result of human ingenuity allied with hereditary instinct unerring as that of the sleuth-hound. ‘Mayboy took the lead, laying the pack on at the exact spot where he had quitted the scent in the morning. For miles back from the Paroo the soil is composed of soft red loam, the tracks on which are as clear of imprint as fossils upon the old red sandstone. But once reach the arid flinty range, and its secrets of wayfaring man or beast are only revealed to the microscopic gaze of the Australian Indian. The troopers rode carelessly together while the footsteps of the fugitive were printed in large type, so to speak. Two kept slightly ahead, the rest following.’ Mr. Parklands aroused himself suddenly from a posture of deep attraction or attention, and observed Ernest’s eager countenance fixed upon Brandon’s calm features, as he, recalling with a certain thrill of interest the stern episode of old pioneer life, told in his low, deep tones the tale of doom. ‘Not caught him yet, old man?’ demanded Mr. Parklands. ‘Devilish slow work. If I’d old Ber-bar we’d have shot every blackfellow in the Paroo by this time. Couldn’t lick him. You won’t take any whisky―that’s why your story hangs fire.’ ‘There is something deeply fascinating about a tale like this,’ exclaimed Ernest. ‘One does not often hear the tragedy from the mouth of one of the actors. I can imagine nothing more exciting than joining in such a chase. Of course you were able to take him alive, with your band of Mohicans. Uncas and old Hawkeye would not have been out of place in such a war-trail, had there only been a Mingo to the fore somehow.’ ‘I have the greatest respect for Uncas and Chingachgook; as for Hawkeye, I have honoured him from my youth up,’ said Brandon; ‘but I firmly believe that Tiger and Mayboy would have given both of them a wrinkle in tracking and woodcraft generally. ‘It was surmised that the trail would follow the river for about twenty-five miles, to a favourite camping-ground by the side of a deep lagoon, known as Tthulajerra. Mayboy, dropping alongside of Mr. Bothwell, said, “Marmy! mine think it, old man Hutkeeper, first time weja longa Tthulajerra, plenty blackfellow sit down there. That fellow messmate, then all-about pull-away-long a scrub.” This calculation was proved to be accurately correct, as the tracks ran straight to the lagoon, where a deserted but recently occupied camp was found. Smouldering fires, heaps of mussel-shells, and fish-bones lay scattered around, while the stones in the native ovens were not yet cold.