However, it would appear that Jack had under-estimated the enterprise of his countrymen, for next day Doorival came tearing in full of excitement to announce that he had seen cattle tracks, “all about—all about;” and by a patient system of induction the gradually concentric tracks brought them before the light had wholly faded within view of the actual encampment.
It was an outside station, in every sense of the word. As they rode up across the long, ever-lengthening plain to the speck in the shifting wavelets of the mirage which they knew to be a hut, a strangely characteristic reception awaited them.
In front of a small mud-walled cabin, thatched with wiry tussock grass which grew sparsely by the great lagoon on the bank of which it was constructed, sat a ragged individual, whose haggard features displayed pain and anxiety in equal proportions.
Before him were two crossed sticks, upon which were arranged a brace of double-barrelled rifles, much after the fashion of the disabled soldier in Gil Blas who levied contributions from the charitable on the roadside.
Perceiving as they advanced that the sentinel hoisted a flag of truce, so to speak, by waving a tattered handkerchief, they rode up and dismounted.
“By George! this is a droll homestead,” said Mr. Waldron, with his usual impetuosity. “May I ask if you are the survivors of Leichhardt’s expedition, or the Spirits of the Inner Desert, or Robinson Crusoe redivivus? At any rate I’m proud to make your acquaintance, sir. Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Redgrave; my own name, Waldron.”
An unaccustomed smile distorted the stranger’s features. He retained his sitting position, as if, like the prince in the greatest of all fairy tales, he was composed of black marble below the waist.
“We’re very glad to see you and your friend too—pleasure decidedly mutual. Name of our firm, Heads and Taylor. We made out from Burnt Creek. I’ve been at death’s door with rheumatism—can’t walk a yard to save my life. Taylor is just recovering from fever and ague. He’s in bed in the humpy.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Jack, sincerely. “But what is the idea of this battery?”
“Blacks!” said the rheumatic gentlemen. “I believe we have the greatest lot of devils on this run anywhere this side of Carpentaria. They’ve tried to rush the hut several times—once at night, luckily when the stockmen were at home, and we potted seven. They’re away all day, and I have to mount guard, as you see. However, turn out your horses, and we’ll enjoy ourselves for once in a way. It’s no compliment, unfortunately, to say that the longer you stay the better shall we be pleased.”