Eh, Jackeroo?" He Asked, And Jackeroo Openly
Agreed With Us.
Finding the black soil flats impassable after the deluge, Mac left the
track, having decided to stick to the ridges all day; and all that had
gone before was smoothness itself in comparison to what was in store.
All day the buck-board rocked and bumped through the timber, and the
Maluka, riding behind, from time to time pointed out the advantages of
travelling across country, as we bounced about the buck-board like rubber
balls: "There's so little chance of getting stiff with sitting still."
Every time we tried to answer him we bit our tongues as the buck-board
leapt over the tussocks of grass. Once we managed to call back, "You
won't feel the journey in a buck-board." Then an overhanging bough
threatening to wipe us out of our seats, Mac shouted, "Duck!" and as we
"ducked" the buck-board skimmed between two trees, with barely an inch to
spare.
"I'm a bit of a Jehu all right!" Mac shouted triumphantly. "It takes
judgment to do the thing in style"; and the next moment, swinging round a
patch of scrub, we flew off at a tangent to avoid a fallen tree, crashing
through its branches and grinding over an out-crop of ironstone to miss a
big boulder just beyond the tree. It undoubtedly took judgment this
"travelling across country along the ridges"; but the keen, alert bushman
never hesitated as he swung in and out and about the timber, only once
miscalculating the distance between trees, when he was obliged to back
out again.
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