The mans eyes came slowly alight, as though seeing
Cabellfor the first time. Hope eell know me when ee sees me, he
grumbled.
Peters gulped a chestful of air and spat it out.
Clothedin the fresh green of new grass, the country looked more than everlike a
park. Withexercise the pains were wearing away, but the agony in his skinbecame
worse. Hedragged half a hollow log under the dray and slept on that. An inspiration
suggestedthat he should unravel his stockwhip and plait it again. From time to time
he peered into the darkness ahead andforced a hoarse cooee out of his throat. Hed
have driven the wool off those sheep.
Hed have driven the wool off those sheep. Might be
zismonth, might be next, might be never. Heate a few berries and some mushrooms to
take the edge off hishunger. Then he had to decide what particular pinpoint on the
immense,swaying arc of skyline to make for. He jumped to his feet and pulled on his
clothes.
If youve got the stone patience of fiftysphinxes
you might see it through, Peppiott had said.
After three-quarters of an hour the track broadened
a little.
He thought he was just going from onedream to
another.
Dang ee for an old woman, but ee knows well enough
what whitemare.
This was December the twelfth, his seventh day from
the dray andseventy-fifth from the homestead. He said nothing, and his dark,brooding
face remained set.
He clearedhis throat and mumbled something,
shifting uneasily on his longlegs. The thought of his dray beside the rising river
returned.