The driver was a tremendously stout and heavy man, with a full round face, which he managed to keep cheerful even now, in the face of all his anxieties.
“Ha, Mackellar,” he said. “So this is the niece, is it? How d’you do, my dear. So you’re going to try camping out, eh? Hope you won’t find it too rough. Couldn’t leave her alone up there, of course, Mackellar, but I’ll take her over to the home station while you’re out if you like. He didn’t tell me you were so young and pretty, Miss—er—Lincoln. Really, I don’t know it’s safe to leave you here, you know. Have the men quarrelling and cutting each other’s throats instead of trees.”
He laughed heartily at his own joke. “What d’you say, Miss Lincoln? Care to come and put up at the station for a few days?”
“No, thank you,” said Ess. “I want to see something of the work you’re doing here, and the fight you’re making.”
“Heart-breaking work,” he said soberly. “And the worst is it’s little enough we can do. Stand by and watch the sheep die mostly and hope for rain. But we may win through yet, eh, Mackellar?”
“I hope so, sir,” said Scottie. “But we’ll hae t’ move the sheep soon. The mulga’s gettin’ thinned, and there’s no more than a few days’ water in the last o’ the tanks.”
“We’ll hold on to the last here,” said the boss, “and then settle whether it’s to be the hills or a boiling down. But every day gained is a day nearer the rains, Mackellar.”
“Oh, I do hope the rain will come, Mr. Sinclair,” said Ess impulsively.
“Thank you, my dear,” said the old man, very softly. “If the prayers of the women will bring it, we’ll surely have plenty. It’s hard on the women, Miss Lincoln. My wife down yonder writes me that the girls are round to the post office every day to see if there’s any bulletin posted of rain in the back country. They know what it means, and it’s hard on them waiting. But we’ll battle through yet, maybe, or we’ll go down trying. Eh, Mackellar?”
“We’ll dae that at least,” said Scottie.