We of the Never-Never | Page 5

explained.
Every one but the landlord seemed to have urgent business in the office or at the far end of the platform, but it was quickly evident that there was nothing to fear from him; for, finding himself left alone to do the honours of the Creek, he greeted us with an amused: "She doesn't look up to sample sent by telegram"; and I felt every meeting would be, at least, unconventional. Then we heard that as Mac had "only just arrived from the Katherine, he couldn't leave his horses until they were fixed up"; but the landlord's eyes having wandered back to the "Goer," he winked deliberately at the Maluka before inviting us to "step across to the Pub."
The Pub seemed utterly deserted, and with another wink the landlord explained the silence by saying that "a cyclone of some sort" had swept most of his "regulars" away; and then he went shouting through the echoing passages for a "boy" to "fetch along tea."
Before the tea appeared, an angry Scotch voice crept to us through thin partitions, saying: "It's not a fit place for a woman, and, besides, nobody wants her!" And in a little while we heard the same voice inquiring for "the Boss."
"The telegraphing bush-whacker," I said, and invited the Maluka to come and see me defy him. But when I found myself face to face with over six feet of brawny quizzing, wrathful-looking Scotchman, all my courage slipped away, and edging closer to the Maluka, I held out my hand to the bushman, murmuring lamely: "How do you do?"
Instantly a change came over the rugged, bearded face. At the sight of the "Goer" reduced to a meek five feet, all the wrath died out of it, and with twitching lips and twinkling eyes Mac answered mechanically, "Quite well thank you," and then coughed in embarrassment.
That was all: no fierce blocking, no defying. And with the cough, the absurdity of the whole affair, striking us simultaneously, left us grinning like a trio of Cheshire cats.
It was a most eloquent grinning, making all spoken apology or explanation unnecessary; and by the time it had faded away we thoroughly understood each other, being drawn together by a mutual love of the ridiculous. Only a mutual love of the ridiculous, yet not so slender a basis for a lifelong friendship as appears, and by no means an uncommon one "out bush."
"Does the station pay for the telegrams, or the loser?" the landlord asked in an aside, as we went in to supper and after supper the preparations began for the morrow's start.
The Sanguine Scot, anxious to make amends for the telegrams, was full of suggestions for smoothing out the difficulties of the road. Like many men of his type, whatever he did he did it with all his heart and soul--hating, loving, avenging, or forgiving with equal energy; and he now applied himself to helping the Maluka "make things easy for her," as zealously as he had striven to "block her somehow."
Sorting out pack-bags, he put one aside, with a "We'll have to spare that for her duds. It won't do for her to be short. She'll have enough to put up with, without that." But when I thanked him, and said I could manage nicely with only one, as I would not need much on the road, he and the Maluka sat down and stared at each other in dismay. "That's for everything you'll need till the waggons come," they explained; "your road kit goes in your swag."
The waggons went "inside" once a year--"after the Wet," and would arrive at the homestead early in June. As it was then only the middle of January, I too sat down, and stared in dismay from the solitary pack-bag to the great, heaped-up pile that had been sorted out as indispensable. "You'll have to cull your herd a bit, that's all," Mac said; and needlework was pointed out as a luxury. Then books were "cut out," after that the house linen was looked to, and as I hesitated over the number of pillow-cases we could manage with, Mac cried triumphantly: "You won't need these anyway, for there's no pillows."
The Maluka thought he had prepared me for everything in the way of roughness; but in a flash we knew that I had yet to learn what a bushman means by rough.
As the pillow-cases fell to the ground, Mac was at a loss to account for my consternation. "What's gone wrong?" he exclaimed in concern. Mac was often an unconscious humorist.
But the Maluka came with his ever-ready sympathy. "Poor little coon," he said gently, "there's little else but chivalry and a bite of tucker for a woman out bush."
Then a light broke in on Mac. "Is it only the pillows?" he said. "I thought something had