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Updated: June 27, 2025
Stobart says, with a commissariat put up for each soldier in a lunch-bag by his wife, were still her metier, the Italian soil, whether in actual or only potential possession held already, or by the grace of God soon to be stolen still her inspiration. And this Italian soil she was now about to leave forever. The forces that led her to world-conquest were twofold, inner and outer.
Stobart: there were the Gracchi, with so much that was fine in them, but a ruining dash of the demagog, an idea that socialism could accomplish anything real; and no wisdom to see through to ultimite causes.
That he would finally arrive, they never doubted for a moment. With this assurance, they once more blew out the light, and it was not long before they were both fast asleep. If they could have known the terrible danger which Drover Stobart was in at that very time, it is certain that sleep would have been impossible to them.
Afterwards I went across to the hospital again and arranged a few things with Mrs. Stobart. I began to correct the men's diagnosis sheets, but was called off to help with wounded arriving, and to label and sort their clothes.
Even he, powerful and feared though he was, dared not actually kill Stobart. The other natives would track their white hero and would soon know everything that had happened, and Arrkroo was afraid of what they might do to him.
But, leading to and from the hiding-place, were the recent tracks of a man's bare feet. Stobart recognized them at once. The warragul doctor had thrown those horseshoes. Arrkroo, the Hater The native doctor fled, like the evil black spirit that he was, up the valley.
After tea was the time the two white boys enjoyed most, for Mick would light his pipe then, prop himself up against his swag, and, with a quart-pot of tea by his side, tell them yarns about the back country. Many of these narratives included Boss Stobart, for he and Mick had gone about together a great deal, and had established overland droving records which are still unbeaten.
It was nearly noon when the boy returned, and the expression on his face clearly indicated disaster. "Nantu dead," he announced sorrowfully. "Dead?" exclaimed Stobart. "What, all of them?" "Yah. All about." The drover was too much amazed to ask any more questions for a time.
And here let me say that these two lectures will be, for the most part, a very bare-faced plagiarism; summarizing facts and conclusions taken from a book called The Grandeur that was Rome, by Mr. J. C. Stobart, of the English Cambridge.
Yet they were all perfectly convinced that he was the cause of Wuntoo's illness. If Wuntoo died without the others taking full vengeance on the one who had bewitched him, the old man's spirit would haunt the camp and bring terrible disaster upon it. Therefore, if Wuntoo died, Stobart must die too. So the white man was kept a close prisoner, and was even obliged to keep inside his cave.
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