Merle swallowed twice before she could command her voice. Then she merely managed to mumble "All right"—and immediately found her hand shaken in a manly fashion.
"Well, I guess we'd better canter," said Dick, thankfully putting an end to the situation. "Those other people are getting too far ahead." They cemented their bargain in the way most acceptable to both of them, by a quick sprint across the plain, to join the main body of the expedition.
The paddocks immediately surrounding the homestead were comparatively clear, except for belts of timber left standing for shelter for the cattle. The soil was good, and long ago, when the ground had been cleared and burnt off, English grasses had been sown, making a firm sward. But as the riders went further, the country gradually assumed more and more of a bush aspect, and the good soil changed. They passed over stony ridges, with red rock outcropping from the short, sparse grass and ironstone rubble that necessitated careful riding. The trees grew smaller in character; there were patches of mulga, tall whip-trees with slender tops curving beneath their load of little green flowers like berries; banksias covered with honey-laden blossoms and all a-flutter with the wings of honey-eaters, whose long, curved beaks plunged deep into the sticky flowers. Everywhere there were flowers. They passed swampy patches, full of the fragrance of wild boronia, and murmurous with the hum of innumerable wild bees; near at hand, ti-tree, with flowers of many colours—some scarlet, some pink, and some of tender green and white. There were curious plants with leaves apparently made of flannel, and others bearing blossoms like balls of red and blue down. Later, Mr. Warner said, the plains would blaze with a dozen kinds of everlastings, the crimson seeds of the native hop would vie with the trailing black and scarlet of Sturt's desert pea, and the cottonwool berries, with their white eye would be everywhere. Rose-coloured mesembryanthemums would trail a gorgeous blanket over the loose granite on the stony ridges—"beastly stuff it is to slip on when you're galloping after kangaroo," added the squatter, with a callous disregard of beauty.
There were birds in every belt of timber; parrakeets, their brilliant colours flashing in the sun as they went screaming overhead; parrots, more brilliant still; cockatoos, black and white, and a host of tiny feathered people, twittering among the blossoms that garlanded the bare earth. Now and then a curlew stepped daintily away, out of sight like a grey shadow, but sure to be ceaselessly watching the intruders from its hiding place. Wild turkeys passed overhead, in swift flight, or black swans, spread fan-like in the sky, the leader ahead, winging their way to some distant lagoon. They saw a group of emu out on a plain—the great birds made off at their approach, their heavy feet sounding almost like a horse's hoofs on the hard ground.
It was after midday when they came in sight of Gaffney's Lagoon, a broad stretch of water named after a stockman who had been attacked by blacks while camping near the shore.
"A good man, Gaffney," said Mr. Warner; "one of the best hands I ever had. He was looking for some lost cattle, and the blacks got round him quietly one night. Poor old Gaffney—he must have put up a good fight, for they didn't get him until he had used up all his ammunition. He had been in Canada, in the North-West Mounted Police, and he could shoot quicker than any man I ever saw."
"They killed him?" asked Dick, wide-eyed.
"Oh, yes, poor old chap. There were nearly twenty spears in him. But there were dead blacks all round him—he had a good escort to the next world. I don't think he'd missed a single shot."
"A pity to lose a man like that," said Mr. Lester.
"Yes, it was bad luck, though it was the sort of finish he had always hoped to get. I used to have great yarns with Gaffney, and the one end he didn't want was to die in his bed. That fellow Stevenson would have appealed to him, with his 'Under the wide and starry sky.' And he did good, even in his death, for his last fight gave the blacks such a wholesome dread of the white man's capabilities that they sheered off for a long time. That was fifteen years ago, and I don't think they ever came so close in again." Mr. Warner pointed ahead with his whip. "Do you see our camp fire, Mr. Lester?"