Or the load might slip on astiff rise: up would go
the dray and the two polers would be swung.
The Scot prodded his thumb vaguely over his
shoulder. But fewer and fewer spears came over, andthe fourth time they let up there
was none.
In thetwilight between the grey timber nothing
moved. But Ive got a wee bit of a packhorse and a black colt Ididna hae
afore.
Even when he did manage to build aserviceable dyke
of mud, he was no better off. Before he fell asleep the colour of his skin was
almostnormal.
A flight of spears, co-ordinated by some mysterious
tribalinstinct, betokened it. All the time he talked to himself in hoarsemutterings:
This wood, worth a fortune in England. But yell probably be wantin half of my
flourin exchange, he said. He worked the toe of his boot under Toms chin andturned
the face up.
Heate a few berries and some mushrooms to take the
edge off hishunger. Then he stumbled forward a few paces anddropped to the ground.
He had been travelling from the south-west at about sixmiles a day.
They waited for fiveminutes and gave the camp a
last volley, then came out from thebush. For some days he had had no damper,nothing,
in fact, but what he shot at the waterholes.
Always it seemed that he must find houses and
peopleover the next rise.
He felt exactly as he had felt at a
successfullambing or shearing.
The man looked him up and down and grunted
again.
Hehad thought he understood those words when he
heard them nearlyfour years ago.
At noon he was ten miles from the dray, facing a
wide patchof scrub.