"
Until sundown we jogged quietly on, meandering through further pleasant
places and meetings; drinking tea and chatting with the Man-in-Charge
between whiles, extracting a maximum of pleasure from a minimum rate of
speed: for travelling in the Territory has not yet passed that ideal
stage where the travelling itself--the actual going--is all
pleasantness.
As we approached Pine Creek I confided to the men-folk that I was feeling
a little nervous. "Supposing that telegraphing bush-whacker decides to
shoot me off-hand on my arrival," I said; and the Man-in-Charge said
amiably: "It'll be brought in as justifiable homicide; that's all." Then
reconnoitring the enemy from the platform, he "feared" we were "about to
be boycotted."
There certainly were very few men on the station, and the Man-in-Charge
recognising one of them as the landlord of the Playford, assured us there
was nothing to fear from that quarter. "You see, you represent business
to him," he 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.
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