What wages do you ask?"

"Whatever you want to pay will satisfy us," replied Sterl. "We want hard riding in a new country."

"Settled. If it's hard riding you want you'll get it. We drovers are undertaking the greatest trek in Australian history. Seven or eight thousand cattle three thousand miles across the Never-never!"

"Mr. Slyter," burst out Sterl, "such a drive is unheard of. Three thousand Texas longhorns made hell on earth for a dozen cowboys. But this herd--this mob, as you call it--across that Never-never Land, if it's unknown and as terrible as they say... Why, man, the drive is impossible."

"Hazelton, we can do it, and you're going to be a great help. I was discouraged before I left home. But my daughter Leslie said: 'Dad, don't give up. You'll find men!' Leslie's a grand kid."

"You're taking your family on this trek?" queried Sterl, aghast.

"Yes. And there'll be at least one other family."

"You Australians don't lack nerve," smiled Sterl.

"Do you need money to outfit?"

"No, sir. But we need to know what to buy."

"Buy rifles, and all the ammunition you can afford. Tents, blankets, and mosquito nets, clothes, extra boots, socks, some tools, a medicine kit, bandages, gloves--a dozen pair, some bottles of whiskey, and about a ton, more or less, of tobacco. That goes furthest with the blacks. You needn't stint on account of room. We'll have wagons and drays."

"But, Mr. Slyter," exclaimed Sterl in amaze, "we don't want to stock a store!"

"Boys," laughed the drover, "this great trek will take two years. Two years droving across the Never-never Land to the Kimberleys!"

"It will be never!" cried Sterl, staggered at the import.

"Whoopee!" yelled Red.

Chapter 2

The remainder of that stimulating day Sterl and Red spent in the big merchandise store, making purchases for a two-year's trip beyond the frontier. Investment in English saddles, two fine English rifles to supplement Sterl's Winchester .44 and thousands of cartridges broke the ice of old accustomed frugality, and introduced an orgy of spending.

It took a dray to transport their outfit to the yard on the outskirts of town, to which they had been directed. Late in the afternoon they had all their purchases stowed away in the front of one of the big new wagons, with their baggage on top, and the woolen blankets spread. Before that, however, they had changed their traveling clothes to the worn and comfortable garb of cowboys. Sterl had not felt so good for weeks. It was all settled. No turning back! That time of contending tides of trouble was past. He would be happy, presently, and forget.

They had scraped acquaintance with one of Slyter's teamsters, a hulking, craggy-visaged chap some years their senior, who announced that his name was Roland Tewksbury Jones. Red's reaction to that cognomen was characteristic.

"Yeah? Have a cigar," he said, producing one with a grand flourish. "My handle is Red. Seein' as how I couldn't remember yore turrible name I'll call you Rol, for short.