“Oh, these country people make a regular living from hauling damaged cars out of difficulties,” said Barry, with the air of a man of the world. “A fellow at school says there’s one place on the Prince’s Highway where the people water the road regularly every night, and keep a team of bullocks handy to pull the cars out of the mud-holes next day! I expect we’ll have the kindly natives along presently.”
Dr. Lane glanced up, and whistled softly.
“Well, there’s the first native, and armed to the teeth, too!” he remarked. “But she doesn’t look as if she could do much pulling, I’m afraid.”
“Well, she’s found game, so we shan’t starve,” Barry chuckled. “Talk about ginger hair!”
Robin, bare-headed, was coming along the track above them—a sufficiently unexpected figure in her blue shirt and khaki breeches, with her red mane glinting in the sun. She carried her gun over her shoulder: a pair of rabbits dangled limply from her hand. Just as the boy spoke she caught sight of them and stopped in amazement. Then she put her gun against the hillside, dropped the rabbits, and plunged down towards them.
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Not badly,” Dr. Lane said, taking off his hat. “But we’re pretty well stranded, as you may see, and my wife has sprained her ankle. Can you tell me where is the nearest township?”