We of the Never-Never | Page 3

told him that it was not a matter for joking.
"Do you know there is not another white woman within a hundred-mile radius ?" they asked; and the Maluka pointed out that it was not all disadvantage for a woman to be alone in a world of men. "The men who form her world are generally better and truer men, because the woman in their midst is dependent on them alone, for companionship, and love, and protecting care," he assured them.
"Men are selfish brutes," the opposition declared, rather irrelevantly, looking pointedly at the Maluka.
He smiled with as much deference as he could command. "Also," he said, "a woman alone in a world of men rarely complains of their selfishness"; and I hastened to his assistance. "Particularly when those men are chivalrous bushmen," I began, then hesitated, for, since reading the telegrams, my ideas of bush chivalry needed readjustment.
"Particularly when those men are chivalrous bushmen," the Maluka agreed, with the merry twinkle in his eyes; for he perfectly understood the cause of the sudden breakdown. Then he added gravely: "For the average bushman will face fire, and flood, hunger, and even death itself, to help the frail or weak ones who come into his life; although he'll strive to the utmost to keep the Unknown Woman out of his environments particularly when those environments are a hundred miles from anywhere."
The opposition looked incredulous. "Hunger and death!" it said. "Fiddlesticks!" It would just serve them right if she went; and the men folk pointed out that this was, now, hardly flattering to the missus.
The Maluka passed the interruption by without comment. "The Unknown Woman is brimful of possibilities to a bushman," he went on; "for although she MAY be all womanly strength and tenderness, she may also be anything, from a weak timid fool to a self-righteous shrew, bristling with virtue and indignation. Still," he added earnestly, as the opposition began to murmur, "when a woman does come into our lives, whatever type she may be, she lacks nothing in the way of chivalry, and it rests with herself whether she remains an outsider or becomes just One of Us. Just One of Us," he repeated, unconsciously pleading hard for the bushman and his greatest need--"not a goddess on a pedestal, but just a comrade to share our joys and sorrows with."
The opposition wavered. "If it wasn't for those telegrams," it said. But Darwin, seeing the telegrams in a new light, took up the cudgels for the bushmen.
"Poor beggars," it said, "you can't blame them. When you come to think of it, the Unknown Woman is brimful of possibilities." Even then, at the Katherine, the possibilities of the Unknown Woman were being tersely summed up by the Wag.
"You'll sometimes get ten different sorts rolled into one," he said finally, after a long dissertation. "But, generally speaking, there's just three sorts of 'em. There's Snorters--the goers, you know--the sort that go rampaging round, looking for insults, and naturally finding them; and then there's fools; and they're mostly screeching when they're not smirking--the uncertain-coy-and-hard-to-please variety, you know," he chuckled, "and then," he added seriously, "there's the right sort, the sort you tell things to. They're A1 all through the piece."
The Sanguine Scot was confident, though, that they were all alike, and none of 'em were wanted; but one of the Company suggested "If she was little, she'd do. The little 'uns are all right," he said.
But public opinion deciding that "the sort that go messing round where they know they're not wanted are always big and muscular and snorters," the Sanguine Scot was encouraged in his determination to "block her somehow."
"I'll block her yet; see if I don't," he said confidently. "After all these years on their own, the boys don't want a woman messing round the place." And when he set out for the railway along the north track, to face the "escorting trick," he repeated his assurances. "I'll block her, chaps, never fear," he said; and glowering at a "quiet" horse that had been sent by the lady at the Telegraph, added savagely, "and I'll begin by losing that brute first turn out."

CHAPTER II
From sun-up to sun-down on Tuesday, the train glided quietly forward on its way towards the Never-Never; and from sun-up to sun-down the Maluka and I experienced the kindly consideration that it always shows to travellers: it boiled a billy for us at its furnace; loitered through the pleasantest valleys; smiled indulgently, and slackened speed whenever we made merry with blacks, by pelting them with chunks of water-melon; and generally waited on us hand and foot, the Man-in-Charge pointing out the beauty spots and places of interest, and making tea for us at frequent intervals.
It was a delightful train--just a simple-hearted, chivalrous, weather-beaten old bush-whacker, at the service of the