"I've struck it!" he
shouted, and pointing to a thick wire rope just visible in the moonlight
as it stretched across the river from flood bank to flood bank, added
hesitatingly: "We send mail-bags - and - valuables over on that when the
river's up."
It was impossible to mistake his meaning, or the Maluka's exclamation of
relief, or that neither man doubted for moment that the woman was willing
to be flung across deep, swirling river on a swaying wire; and as many a
man has appeared brave because he has lacked the courage to own to his
cowardice, so I said airily that "anything better than going back," and
found the men exchanging glances.
"No one's going back," the Maluka said quietly: and then I learned that
the Wet does not "do things by half." Once they began to move the flood
waters must have come down the valleys in tidal waves, the Maluka
explained. "The Cullen we've just left will probably be a roaring
torrent by now."
"We're stuck between two rivers: that's what's happened," Mac added
savagely. "Might have guessed that miserable little Cullen was up to her
old sneaking ways." And to explain Mac's former "dratting," the Maluka
said: "It's a way the rivers have up here. They entice travellers over
with smiles and promises, and before they can get back, call down the
flood waters and shut them in."
"I'm glad I thought of the wire," Mac added cheerfully, and slipped into
reminiscences of the Wet, drawing the Maluka also into experiences. And
as they drifted from one experience to another, forced camps for days on
stony outcrops in the midst of seas of water were touched on lightly as
hardly worth mentioning; while "eating yourself out of tucker, and getting
down to water-rats and bandicoots," compared favourably with a day or two
spent in trees or on stockyard fences. As for crossing a river on a
stout wire rope! After the first few reminiscences, and an incident or
two in connection with "doing the horse's-tail trick," that appeared an
exceedingly safe and pleasant way of overcoming the difficulty, and it
became very evident why women do not travel "during the Wet."
It was a singularly beautiful night, shimmering with warm tropical
moonlight, and hoarse with the shouting of frogs and the roar of the
river - a night that demanded attention; and, gradually losing interest in
hair-breadth escapes from drowning, Mac joined in the song of the frogs.
"Quar-r-rt pot! Quar-r-rt pot!" he sang in hoarse, strident minims,
mimicking to perfection the shouts of the leaders, leaning with them on
the "quar-r-rt" in harsh gutturals, and spitting out the "pot" in short,
deep staccatos. Quicker and quicker the song ran, as the full chorus of
frogs joined in.
