And if it holds good, something'll
happen to stop you from ever having a house, so as to get you properly
educated."
My luck "held good" for the time being; for when Johnny came along in a
few days he announced, in answer to a very warm welcome, that "something
had gone wrong at No. 3 Well" and that "he'd promised to see to it at
once."
"Oh, Johnny!" I cried reproachfully, but the next moment was "toeing the
line" even to the Head Stockman's satisfaction; for with a look of
surprise Johnny had added: "I - I thought you'd reckon that travellers'
water for the Dry came before your rooms." Out-bush we deal in hard
facts.
"Thought I'd reckon!" I said, appalled to think my comfort should even be
spoken of when men's lives were in question. "Of course I do; I didn't
understand, that was all."
"We haven't finished her education yet," Dan explained, and the Maluka
added, "But she's learning."
Johnny looked perplexed. "Oh, well! That's all right, then," he said,
rather ambiguously. "I'll be back as soon as possible, and then we
shan't be long."
Two days later he left the homestead bound for the well, and as he
disappeared into the Ti-Tree that bordered the south track, most of us
agreed that "luck was out." Only Dan professed to think differently.
"It's more wonderful than ever," he declared; "more wonderful than ever,
and if it holds good we'll never see Johnny again."
CHAPTER VIII
Considering ourselves homeless, the Maluka decided that we should "go
bush" for awhile during Johnny's absence beginning with a short tour of
inspection through some of the southern country of the run; intending, if
all were well there, to prepare for a general horse-muster along the
north of the Roper. Nothing could be done with the cattle until "after
the Wet."
Only Dan and the inevitable black "boy" were to be with us on this
preliminary walk-about; but all hands were to turn out for the muster, to
the Quiet Stockman's dismay.
"Thought they mostly sat about and sewed," he said in the quarters.
Little did the Sanguine Scot guess what he was doing when he "culled"
needlework from the "mob" at Pine Creek.
The walk-about was looked upon as a reprieve, and when a traveller,
expressing sympathy, suggested that "it might sicken her a bit of camp
life," Jack clung to that hope desperately.
Most of the nigger world turned up to see the "missus mount," that still
being something worth seeing. Apart from the mystery of the side-saddle,
and the joke of seeing her in an enormous mushroom hat, there was the
interest of the mounting itself; Jackeroo having spread a report that the
Maluka held out his hands, while the missus ran up them and sat herself
upon the horse's back.
"They reckon you have escaped from a "Wild West Show," Dan said, tickled
at the look of wonder on some of the faces as I settled myself in the
saddle. We learned later that Jackeroo had tried to run up Jimmy's hands
to illustrate the performance in camp, and, failing, had naturally blamed
Jimmy, causing report to add that the Maluka was a very Samson in
strength.
"A dress rehearsal for the cattle-musters later on," Dan called the
walk-about, looking with approval on my cartridge belt and revolver; and
after a few small mobs of cattle had been rounded up and looked over, he
suggested "rehearsing that part of the performance where the missus gets
lost, and catches cows and milks 'em."
"Now's your chance, missus," he shouted, as a scared, frightened beast
broke from the mob in hand, and went crashing through the undergrowth.
"There's one all by herself to practice on." Dan's system of education,
being founded on object-lessons, was mightily convincing; and for that
trip, anyway, he had a very humble pupil to instruct in the "ways of
telling the signs of water at hand."
All day as we zigzagged through scrub and timber, visiting water-holes
and following up cattle-pads, the solitude of the bush seemed only a
pleasant seclusion; and the deep forest glades, shady pathways leading to
the outside world; but at night, when the camp had been fixed up in the
silent depths of a dark Leichhardt-pine forest, the seclusion had become
an isolation that made itself felt, and the shady pathways, miles of dark
treacherous forest between us and our fellow-men.
There is no isolation so weird in its feeling of cut-offness as that of a
night camp in the heart of the bush. The flickering camp-fires draw all
that is human and tangible into its charmed circle, and without, all is
undefinable darkness and uncertainty. Yet it was in this night camp
among the dark pines, with even the stars shut out, that we learnt that
out-bush "Houselessness" need not mean "Homelessness" - a discovery that
destroyed all hope that "this would sicken her a bit."
As we were only to be out one night, and there was little chance of rain,
we had nothing with us but a little tucker, a bluey each, and a couple of
mosquito nets. The simplicity of our camp added intensely to the
isolation; and as I stood among the dry rustling leaves, looking up at
the dark broad-leaved canopy above us, with my "swag" at my feet, the
Maluka called me a "poor homeless little coon."
A woman with a swag sounds homeless enough to Australian ears, but Dan,
with his habit of looking deep into the heart of things, "didn't exactly
see where the homelessness came in."
We had finished supper, and the Maluka stretching himself luxuriously in
the firelight, made a nest in the warm leaves for me to settle down in.
"You're right, Dan," he said, after a short silence, "when I come to
think of it; I don't exactly see myself where the homelessness comes in.
A bite and a sup and a faithful dog, and a guidwife by a glowing hearth,
and what more is needed to make a home.
