With this farewell exhortation and reconciliation Dick shook off his spouse, and walked briskly away by the side of the team. The cattle, glad to feel themselves unchecked, struck briskly along the track. Wilfred and Guy came up at a hand-gallop, and took their places behind the drove. The first act of the migratory drama was commenced, with all the actors in their places.
The first day’s stage was arranged to reach only to a stock-yard near Benmohr. It was a longish day’s drive, but, being the first day from home, all the more likely to steady the cattle. Having got so far, and secured them inside the rails, with Dick and his team camped by the dam, Wilfred left Guy in charge and rode over, with O’More and Hubert Warleigh, to spend a last civilised evening at Benmohr. It was necessary for the latter, now recognised as the responsible leader of the expedition, to give Argyll, Hamilton, and the others instructions as to the route.
A fair-sized party was assembled around that hospitable board. All the men present had been actuated by the same feelings, apparently, as themselves, viz. with a trustworthy person in charge of the camp, they might as well enjoy themselves once more at dear, jolly, old Benmohr.
‘Hech! sae ye’re here to look at a body ance mair, Maister Effingham; and whatten garred you to list Maister O’More, and him juist frae hame, puir laddie, to gang awa’ and be killed by thae wild blacks?’
‘I suppose you wouldn’t mind my being rubbed out, Mrs. Teviot,’ said Hubert. ‘It’s only gentlemen from England that are valuable. Imported stock, eh?’
‘Noo, Maister Hubert, ye ken weel I wad be wae eneugh if onything happened to yer ain sell, though ye hae nae mither to greet for ye, mair’s the peety, puir lady! But your hands can aye keep your heed; and they say ye can haud ane o’ thae narrow shields and throw a spear as weel’s ony o’ the blacks. They’ll no catch you napping; but this young gentleman will maybe rin into ambushes and sic-like, like a bird into the net o’ the fowler.’
‘Then we must pull him out again,’ said Hubert gravely. ‘I hope you are not going to be rash, Mr. O’More. See how you will be missed.’
‘I am aware, as I have not had the good fortune to live much in Australia,’ said Gerald, ‘that I must be made of sugar or salt, warranted to melt at the first wetting. But my hands have kept my head in an Irish fair, before now; and I think half-a-dozen shillelahs at once must be nearly as bad as a blackfellow’s club.’
‘They are deuced quick with the boomerang and nullah,’ said Hubert; ‘you can hardly see the cursed things before they are on to you.’
‘And a barbed spear is worse than all the blackthorns in Tipperary,’ said Wilfred; ‘so look out and don’t cast a gloom over the party by your early death. Mrs. Teviot, give me a parting kiss and your blessing, for that is the dinner-bell.’