When Blake did ring Meena it was Mrs Gordon who answered the call.

“John has gone riding round to the west side of the lake to see if any water has come down Meena Creek into the lake,” she said, adding eagerly: “Have you had news yet of Mr Anderson?”

“No, they haven’t found him, Mrs Gordon. You see, the rain has blotted out all tracks to be seen by white men. Will you ask Mr Gordon to ring me immediately he gets home?”

John Gordon rang Blake at five minutes past seven.

“No, they hadn’t found Anderson at six o’clock when the men came home for dinner,” Blake told him. “They’re all leaving again to-night to camp at the hut at Green Swampso’s to be out on the job again in the morning early. Will you get after the blacks first thing and bring a couple of ’emto hunt for tracks?”

“Certainly. I’ll have to take horses because the road to Deep Well can’t be used for two or three days. Too many deep water-gutters to cross. But I may not succeed all the same. The blacks haven’t forgotten how Anderson treated Inky Boy, you know.”

“Humph! Well, that can be understood,” Blake agreed. “Still, you might try ’em.”

“Oh yes, I’ll go after them. I’ll leave before daylight.”

“Good enough. Old Lacy is talking about foul play, or hinting at it. Seems to think the blacks might have lulled Anderson for his treatment of Inky Boy.”

“Oh, I say! That’s all rot,” Gordon said warmly. “Why, you know, Sergeant, that if the blacks wanted revenge for what Anderson did to Inky Boy they would not have waited all this time to take it. And, if they had killed him, I’d have known of it by now.”

“I’m more than inclined to agree with you on that score, Mr Gordon,” Blake said with unmistakable candour. “They’ll find Anderson with a broken leg, probably. If they don’t I think we can search for him elsewhere. Good night!”