But If Our Fizzer Was Just Our Fizzer, The Quiet Stockman Was Changing
Every Day.
He was still the Quiet Stockman, and always would be,
speaking only when he had something to say, but
He was learning that he
had much to say that was worth saying, or, rather, much that others found
worth listening to; and that knowledge was squaring his shoulders and
bringing a new ring into his voice.
Around the camp fires we touched on any subject that suggested itself,
but at the Stirling that night, four of us being Scotch, we found
Scotland and Scotchmen an inexhaustible topic, and before we turned in
were all of Jack's opinion, that "you can't beat the Scots." Even the
Dandy and the Fizzer were converted; and Jack having realised that there
are such things as Scotchwomen - Scotch-hearted women - a new bond was
established between us.
No one had much sleep that night, and before dawn there was no doubt left
in our mind about the outside cattle coming in. It seemed as though every
beast on the run must have come in to the Stirling that night for a
drink. Every water-hole out-bush is as the axis of a great circle,
cattle pads narrowing into it like the spokes of a wheel, from every
point of the compass, and along these pads around the Stirling mob after
mob of cattle came in in single file, treading carelessly, until each old
bull leader, scenting the camp, gave its low, deep, drawn-out warning
call that told of danger at hand.
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