"I guess it's about time we had something to eat too," said Jack, who had been of that opinion for over an hour, and the three sallied out.
Jack was an expert at boiling the billy and making tea, and Mackay had a wonderful knowledge of the art of bush cookery, so that between them they always contrived to make a fairly palatable repast, notwithstanding the unvaried nature of their stores. Bob generally carried the water, or unearthed from their hiding-place the few enamelled cups and plates necessary; but, as he said himself, his assistance in matters culinary would never have been missed. On this occasion he amused himself taking altitudes of the sun with his cherished sextant, while his companions attended to the more practical affairs. In one direction—slightly north of west from the camp—the open desert could be traced without interruption in the shape of scrub or hillocks, until it merged into the distant horizon. Bob had discovered this two days before, when he first endeavoured to make use of Mackay's gift, and he knew that it was just about one o'clock in the afternoon that the sextant reflectors would bring the sun down to this level line, and so give a true declination without the use of an artificial horizon. He ogled away in this direction now, keeping time by Mackay's old but trusty chronometer which lay on the sand before him, until Jack's call of "tucker"—which is the bush synonym for all sorts and conditions of meals—caused him to seek his wonted place at the open-air table.
"There is a dot or speck on the sky-line which I can't make out," he said, placing the sextant down carefully at his side. "I don't remember of it being there yesterday."
"Perhaps it's a tree grown up like Jonah's gourd," laughed Jack. "Have some more tea, Bob; and you'll see two trees next time you look!"
A little later Mackay lolled back in lazy satisfaction. "I believe," he said with a chuckle, "that I'm just in the mood to gie ye another verse o' 'The Muskittie's Lament.' I see Jack's no feenished, so I'll be sure o' him listening to my masterpiece this time." He lifted up his voice and sent forth a doleful wail as a preliminary; then, noting the grieved countenances of his audience, he relented. "I'll get my flute an' play ye a bit frae the 'Bohemian Girl' instead. I'm no' so sure that I could tackle that high note in 'The Muskittie's Lament' on a fu' stomach."
He arose and walked to the tent, returning almost immediately with his instrument. But before he sat down his eye happened to glance over the unbroken track towards the west, and a frown settled over his features.
"Your obstruction on the sky-line was a man on horseback, Bob," said he; "I hope he's no' another professional fighter, wha wants me to chastise him into a humbler spirit."
Since the arrival of Macguire's party a further influx from the outside world had been daily expected, for news of gold "strikes" travels quickly, and the sudden exodus of nearly a dozen men from a comparatively small centre could only be construed in one way. Therefore, little more than passing interest was paid to the approaching horseman, who was yet a considerable way off, and Mackay, squatting down on the sand, blew at his flute right merrily, and promptly forgot all about him. The boys, too, quickly became enthralled with his melody, though with them there was always the shivering dread that the flautist would burst into song, and so break the spell that bound them. Many and various were the airs he played, but at last he sought solace in the old Scotch song, "Ye Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon," and the feeling which he managed to infuse into the instrument was simply wonderful.
"Ay, my lads," said Mackay, when he had finished, "there's naething like the auld Scots sangs for awakenin' kindly memories o' the land we're aye so glad to get away from. I'm no so sure, mind you, that it isna good fur us whiles to have a wholesome, tender sentiment gruppin' at the strings o' oor cauld hearts, an' playing strange music thereon; it straightens oor backs, an' gies us a grander sympathy——"
He ceased his flow of eloquence, and assumed a listening attitude of intense eagerness. Faintly over the plains had come the sound of a voice raised in cheerful song.