"Couldn't you get them from him yourself?"
"I did n't try. I was glad to see them goin'; on'y I begun to think after, thinks I, it 's a pity o' the poor misforchunate carrion walkin' all that way, free gracious for nothin'; an' p'r'aps a trip to Booligal pound on top of it; an' them none too fat. But I 'm glad for Alf. I hate that beggar. I would n't len' him my knife to cut up a pipe o' tobacker, not if his tongue was stickin' out as long as yer arm. I was n't goin' to demean myself to tell him about his carrion, nyther; on'y I knowed your horses when I seen them; an' by-'n'-by I spotted you where you was layin' down, sleepin' fit to break yer neck; an' I bin hollerin' at you till I 'm black in the face. I begun to think you was drunk, or dead, or somethin'—bust you." And with this address, which I give in bowdlerised form, the young fellow turned his horse, and disappeared through a belt of lignum.
I walked across to the bullock-wagon. The camp had a strangely desolate and deserted appearance. Three yokes lay around, with the bows and keys scattered about; and there was no sign of a camp-fire. Under the wagon lay a saddle and bridle, and beside them the swollen and distorted body of Alf's black cattle-dog—probably the only thing on earth that had loved the gloomy misanthrope. I lifted the edge of the hot, greasy tarpaulin, and looked on the flooring of the wagon, partly covered with heavy coils of wool-rope, and the spare yokes and chains.
"A drink of water, for God's sake!" said a scarcely intelligible whisper, from the suffocating gloom of the almost air-tight tent.
I threw the tarpaulin back off the end of the wagon, and ran to the river for a billy of water. Then, vaulting on the platform, I saw Alf lying on his blankets, apparently helpless, and breathing heavily, his face drawn and haggard with pain. I raised his head, and held the billy to his lips; but, being in too great a hurry, I let his head slip off my hand, and most of the water spilled over his throat and chest. He shrank and shivered as the cool deluge seemed to fizz on his burning skin, but drank what was left, to the last drop.
"Now turn me over on the other side, or I'll go mad," he whispered.
He shuddered and groaned as I touched him, but, with one hand under his shoulders, and the other under his bent and rigid knees, I slowly turned him on the other side.
"Would n't you like to lie on your back for a change?" I asked.
"No, no," he whispered excitedly; "my heels might slip, and straighten my knees. Another drink of water, please."
I brought a second billy of water, but he turned from it with disgust.