And Cleanskin Joe saw prices of endless whiskies.
Then said Mr. So-and-so, "Our one chance, old man, is to miss the hotel." Cleanskin Joe wagged his head. Said Mr. So-and-so, "We must cut the waggon road to miss it by a dozen miles."
They drove their road over rise and down dip, plying the tools with right good will because of that vision. One night Mr. So-and-so would say—"How about direction, dear fellow? Are we enough to the right?" And next night it was Cleanskin Joe. "I reckon we're safe to miss that blankey place now, holdin' left as we're doing."
But who shall win when Fate plays hide-and-seek? On the hottest day of the hottest summer in man's memory, they drove the road into a clearing of the bush where the doors of the Drink-me-Dry Hotel leaned open to meet them.
. . . . . . .
Cleanskin Joe blinked his eyes through the smoke when Power cantered up. "Evening, boss. I was lookin' for yer an hour since. What time do yer want tucker ready?"
"Half an hour will finish us. There's a bit of cutting out to do. What about a drop of tea?"
"Right on the spot. Take care. It's durned hot."
Power drank the tea, and urged his horse about. The bullocks straggled from the pool where they had been drinking. Power had given orders to keep the horses from water, and the cattle were rounded up on the way from the shallows.
Presently the mob was bunched. First there came a time of talking and shaking of heads. At the end of it, Power and O'Neill worked a way into the jumble of animals, looking this way and that for the half dozen cows, and keeping a wide eye for accidents. The beasts gave them fair roadway, backing over here and there with snorting and a sweep of the head. "Here we are," Power said.