I Did Not Envy The Cyclists, For
Sometimes, Failing To Hit Off A Camp On The Road, They Had Perforce To
Make The Best Of A Fire As A Substitute For A Blanket, And To Be Content
With A Hungry Stomach, In Place Of Having A Meal.
Before the erection of telegraph wires, which now connect all the more
important mining towns, cyclists made good money by carrying special
messages from Coolgardie to the outlying districts.
Except where the sand
was deep they had a good track, well-beaten by the flat pads of camels,
and could do their hundred miles a day at a push. Travelling at express
rate, they were unable to carry blankets or provisions except of the
scantiest description, and took their chance of hitting off the camp of
some wayfarer, who would always be ready to show what hospitality he
could, to messengers of so much importance. To have to part with one of
your blankets on a cold night for the benefit of another traveller, is
one of the severest exercises of self denial.
These little kindly services are always rendered, for a man in the bush
who would not show courtesy and hospitality to a fellow-wayfarer is
rightly considered a cur. No matter what time one strikes a man's camp,
his first thought, whether for stranger or friend, is to put on the
"billy" and make a pot of tea.
Arrived at Lake Darlot, I found work being carried on well and with
energy, as could not fail to be the case where Dave Wilson was concerned.
Poor Jim and Paddy had had hard times, before Wilson arrived, to make the
provisions last out.
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