They hunted through the corn from end to end, but found no trace of him.

Night came.

The search continued.

They called, and called, but nothing answered save the ghostly echoes, the rustling of leaves, the slow, sonorous notes of a distant bear, or the neighing of a horse in the grass-paddock.
At midnight they gave up, and went home, and sat inside and listened, and looked distracted.
While they sat, "Whisky," a blackfellow from Billson's station, dropped in.

He was taking a horse down to town for his boss, and asked Dad if he could stay till morning.