"It's hard luck for him. He's a decent little chap. We'll
miss him"; and he shook his head sorrowfully, and looked round for
applause.
The Maluka said it seemed a pity that Johnny had been allowed to go to
his fate; but Dan was in his best form.
"It wouldn't have made any difference," he said tragically. "He'd have
got fever if he'd stayed on, or a tree would have fallen on him. He's
doomed if the missus keeps him to his contract."
"Oh, well! He'll die in a good cause," I said cheerfully and Dan's
gravity deserted him.
"You're the dead finish!" he chuckled, and without further ceremony,
beyond the taking off his boots, rolled into his mosquito net for the
night.
We heard nothing further from him until that strange rustling hour of the
night that hour half-way between midnight and dawn, when all nature stirs
in its sleep, and murmurs drowsily in answer to some mysterious call.
Nearly all bushmen who sleep with the warm earth for a bed will tell of
this strange wakening moment, of that faint touch of half-consciousness,
that whispering stir, strangely enough, only perceptible to the sleeping
children of the bush one of the mysteries of nature that no man can
fathom, one of the delicate threads with which the Wizard of Never-Never
weaves his spells.
