We “outspanned”, that is, we unyoked, and “off-saddled” here for luncheon, and found shelter from the sun under a mimosa, which was large enough to merit being styled a tree. Its thorns were from four to six inches in length.
The party had now swelled to fourteen—all stout hardy descendants of the English, Scotch, or Dutch settlers, who had originally peopled the land; good rifle shots, and splendid horsemen. One of them was conspicuous by his brawny arms, which were burnt to a deep brown in consequence of his preferring to hunt and work at all times with shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbows. Another struck me as having the broadest pair of shoulders I ever saw in a man of his size.
“Capital water here,” said Green to me, on alighting beside the mimosa-thorn.
“Indeed,” said I, thirsting for some, “where is it?”
“Here! come; I’ll show you.”
He led me to a spot among the bushes where lay a small pond of thin mud the colour of weak tea with milk.
“There you are,” said Green.
I looked at him inquiringly.
He looked at me and smiled.
I laughed.