“I had to pay, though,” the Măluka laughed, with one of his quick changes of humour. “But, then, I’m only a man.”
Chapter 5
When we arrived at the five-mile in the morning we found Mac “packed up” and ready for the start, and, passing the reins to him, the Măluka said, “You know the road best”; and Mac, being what he called a “bit of a Jehu,” we set off in great style across country, apparently missing trees by a hair’s breadth, and bumping over the ant-hills, boulders, and broken boughs that lay half-hidden in the long grass.
After being nearly bumped out of the buck-board several times, I asked if there wasn’t any track anywhere; and Mac once again exploded with astonishment.
“We’re on the track,” he shouted. “Good Heavens! do you mean to say you can’t see it on ahead there?” and he pointed towards what looked like thickly timbered country, plentifully strewn with further boulders and boughs and ant-hills; and as I shook my head, he shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. “And we’re on the main transcontinental route from Adelaide to Port Darwin,” he said.
“Any track anywhere!” he mimicked presently, as we lurched, and heaved, and bumped along. “What’ll she say when we get into the long-grass country?”
“Long here!” he ejaculated, when I thought the grass we were driving through was fairly long (it was about three feet). “Just you wait!”
I waited submissively, if bouncing about a buck-board over thirty miles of obstacles can be called waiting, and next day we “got into the long-grass country”, miles of grass, waving level with and above our heads—grass ten feet high and more, shutting out everything but grass.
The Măluka was riding a little behind, at the head of the pack-team, but we could see neither him nor the team, and Mac looked triumphantly round as the staunch little horses pushed on through the forest of grass that swirled and bent and swished and reeled all about the buck-board.
“Didn’t I tell you?” he said. “This is what we call long grass”; and he asked if I could “see any track now.” “It’s as plain as a pikestaff,” he declared, trying to show what he called a “clear break all the way.” “Oh I’m a dead homer all right,” he shouted after further going as we came out at the “King” crossing.