One pub at the Katherine and another at Oodnadatta and between
them over a thousand miles of bush, and desert and dust, and heat, and
thirst. That, from a teamster's point of view, is the Overland Route
from Oodnadatta to the Katherine.
A pub had little attraction for the Sanguine Scot, and provided he could
steer the other Macs safely past the one at the Katherine, there would be
no delay there with the trunks; but the year's stores were on the horse
teams and the station, having learnt bitter experience from the past, now
sent in its own waggon for the bulk of the stores, as soon as they were
known to be at the Katherine; and so the Dandy set off at once.
"You'll see me within a fortnight, bar accidents" he called back, as the
waggon lurched forward towards the slip-rails; and the pub also having
little attraction for the Dandy, we decided to expect him, "bar
accidents." For that matter, a pub had little attraction for any of the
Elsey men, the Quiet Stockman being a total abstainer, and Dan knowing
"how to behave himself," although he owned to having "got a bit merry
once or twice."
The Dandy out of sight, Johnny went back to his work, which happened to
be hammering the curves out of sheets of corrugated iron.
"Now we shan't be long," he shouted, hammering vigorously, and when I
objected to the awful din, he reminded me, with a grin, that it was "all
in the good cause." When "smoothed out," as Johnny phrased it, the iron
was to be used for capping the piles that the house was built upon, "to
make them little white ants stay at home."
"We'll smooth all your troubles out, if you give us time," he shouted,
returning to the hammering after his explanation with even greater
energy. But by dinnertime some one had waddled into our lives who was to
smooth most of the difficulties out of it, to his own, and our complete
satisfaction.
Just as Sam announced dinner a cloud of dust creeping along the horizon
attracted our attention.
"Foot travellers!" Dan decided; but something emerged out of the dust, as
it passed through the sliprails, that looked very like a huge mould of
white jelly on horse-back.
Directly it sighted us it rolled off the horse, whether intentionally or
unintentionally we could not say, and leaving the beast to the care of
chance, unfolded two short legs from somewhere and waddled towards us - a
fat, jovial Chinese John Falstaff.
