The little 'uns are all right," he said.
But public opinion deciding that "the sort that go messing round where
they know they're not wanted are always big and muscular and snorters,"
the Sanguine Scot was encouraged in his determination to "block her
somehow."
"I'll block her yet; see if I don't," he said confidently. "After all
these years on their own, the boys don't want a woman messing round the
place." And when he set out for the railway along the north track, to
face the "escorting trick," he repeated his assurances. "I'll block her,
chaps, never fear," he said; and glowering at a "quiet" horse that had
been sent by the lady at the Telegraph, added savagely, "and I'll begin
by losing that brute first turn out."
CHAPTER II
From sun-up to sun-down on Tuesday, the train glided quietly forward on
its way towards the Never-Never; and from sun-up to sun-down the Maluka
and I experienced the kindly consideration that it always shows to
travellers: it boiled a billy for us at its furnace; loitered through the
pleasantest valleys; smiled indulgently, and slackened speed whenever we
made merry with blacks, by pelting them with chunks of water-melon; and
generally waited on us hand and foot, the Man-in-Charge pointing out the
beauty spots and places of interest, and making tea for us at frequent
intervals.
It was a delightful train - just a simple-hearted, chivalrous,
weather-beaten old bush-whacker, at the service of the entire Territory.
"There's nothing the least bit officious or standoffish about it," I was
saying, when the Man-in-Charge came in with the first billy of tea.
"Of course not!" he said, unhooking cups from various crooked-up fingers.
"It's a Territorian, you see."
"And had all the false veneer of civilisation peeled off long ago," the
Maluka said, adding, with a sly look at my discarded gloves and gossamer,
"It's wonderful how quietly the Territory does its work."
The Man-in-Charge smiled openly as he poured out the tea, proving thereby
his kinship with all other Territorians; and as the train came to a
standstill, swung off and slipped some letters into a box nailed to an
old tree-trunk.
At the far end of the train, away from the engine, the passengers' car
had been placed, and as in front of it a long, long line of low-stacked
sinuous trucks slipped along in the rear of the engine, all was open view
before us; and all day long, as the engine trudged onwards - hands in
pockets, so to speak, and whistling merrily as it trudged - I stood beside
the Maluka on the little platform in front of the passengers' car,
drinking in my first deep, intoxicating draught of the glories of the
tropical bush.
There were no fences to shut us in; and as the train zig-zagged through
jungle and forest and river-valley - stopping now and then to drink deeply
at magnificent rivers ablaze with water-lilies - it almost seemed as
though it were some kindly Mammoth creature, wandering at will through
the bush.
Here and there, kangaroos and other wild creatures of the bush hopped out
of our way, and sitting up, looked curiously after us; again and again
little groups of blacks hailed us, and scrambled after water-melon and
tobacco, with shouts of delight, and, invariably, on nearing the tiny
settlements along the railway, we drove before us white fleeing flocks of
goats.
At every settlement we stopped and passed the time of day and, giving out
mail-bags, moved on again into the forest. Now and again, stockmen rode
out of the timber and received mail-bags, and once a great burly bushman,
a staunch old friend of the Maluka's, boarded the train, and greeted him
with a hearty hand-shake.
"Hullo! old chap!" he called in welcome, as he mounted the steps of the
little platform, "I've come to inspect your latest investment"; but
catching sight of the "latest investment" he broke into a deafening roar.
"Good Lord!" he shouted, looking down upon me from his great height, "is
that all there is of her? They're expecting one of the prize-fighting
variety down there," and he jerked his head towards the Never-Never. Then
he congratulated the Maluka on the size of his missus.
"Gimme the little 'uns," he said, nearly wringing my hand off in his
approval. "You can't beat 'em for pluck. My missus is one of 'em, and she
went bush with me when I'd nothing but a skeeto net and a quart-pot to
share with her." Then, slapping the Maluka vigorously on the back, he
told him he'd got some sense left. "You can't beat the little 'uns," he
declared. "They're just the very thing."
The Maluka agreed with him, and after some comical quizzing, they
decided, to their own complete satisfaction, that although the bushman's
"missus" was the "littlest of all little 'uns, straight up and down," the
Maluka's "knocked spots off her sideways."
But although the Territory train does not need to bend its neck to the
galling yoke of a minute time-table, yet, like all bush-whackers, it
prefers to strike its supper camp before night-fall, and after allowing
us a good ten minutes' chat, it blew a deferential "Ahem" from its
engine, as a hint that it would like to be "getting along." The bushman
took the hint, and after a hearty "Good luck, missus!" and a "chin, chin,
old man," left us, with assurances that "her size 'ud do the trick."
Until sundown we jogged quietly on, meandering through further pleasant
places and meetings; drinking tea and chatting with the Man-in-Charge
between whiles, extracting a maximum of pleasure from a minimum rate of
speed:
