'What a hole,' he muttered, 'and what beasts these men are.'
Barker's Creek was not an inviting place by any means. It lay in a hollow and was surrounded by a rough, uncleared bush country. Tall, gaunt trees, branchless until near the tops, towered round the place like huge scaffold poles. Their appearance at night was weird, as they were of a slaty white colour, and resembled huge, gaunt spectres. The shanties in which the men lived and the humpies of the blacks were not visible until the visitor was close on to the spot. It was secluded, cut off from the world, and fittingly so.
Some terrible orgies took place here, and the howls and cries of the black gins, when Dalton's men were amongst them, denoted that scenes of brutality were being enacted.
The blacks were herded together like animals, and their humpies were made of the branches of trees suspended, tent-like, on poles, and their resting-places were on the ground.
Numerous stray curs were prowling around, playing with the naked little black children, who had no more intelligence, if so much, as the dogs.
The men of the gang had better accommodation, but it was poor enough, and the only really decent house in the place was Abe Dalton's. It was before this house that Dr Tom pulled up his horses, and, getting out of the buggy, went up the steps on to the verandah. The house, like all the others, was built on piles, and stood a considerable height from the ground; in fact horses were often sheltered beneath.
'Are you in, Abe Dalton?' shouted Dr Tom.
'Yes; come in,' said a gruff voice.
Dr Tom entered and found Abe Dalton lying on a camp bed, groaning and tossing from side to side.
He was a big, powerful man, with a coarse face that would have been red had not constant exposure to all winds and weather made the skin as brown as parchment. His hair was long, black, and ill-kept, and his big hands and feet denoted the coarse blood in his veins.