In the scrub the novelist's heroine gets lost, search fails of result; she wanders here and there, and finally sinks down exhausted and unconscious, and the searchers pass within a yard or two of her, not suspecting that she is near, and by and by some rambler finds her bones and the pathetic diary which she had scribbled with her failing hand and left behind.

Nobody can find a lost heroine in the scrub but the aboriginal "tracker," and he will not lend himself to the scheme if it will interfere with the novelist's plot.

The scrub stretches miles and miles in all directions, and looks like a level roof of bush-tops without a break or a crack in it -- as seamless as a blanket, to all appearance.

One might as well walk under water and hope to guess out a route and stick to it, I should think.

Yet it is claimed that the aboriginal "tracker" was able to hunt out people lost in the scrub.