"Never heard of Mrs. Bob
getting up to those tricks," he said, and doubted whether "the missus'ld
do after all," until reassured by the Maluka that "she'll be fishing
them out with the indifference of a Stoic in a week or two"; and I was.
When within a few miles of the homestead, the buckboard took a sharp turn
round a patch of scrub, and before any one realised what was happening we
were in the midst of a mob of pack horses, and face to face with the
Quiet Stockman a strong, erect, young Scot, who carried his six foot two
of bone and muscle with the lithe ease of a bushman.
"Hallo" Mac shouted, pulling up. Then, with the air of a showman
introducing some rare exhibit, added: "This is the missus, Jack."
Jack touched his hat and moved uneasily in his saddle, answering Mac's
questions in monosyllables. Then the Maluka came up, and Mac, taking pity
on the embarrassed bushman, suggested "getting along," and we left him
sitting rigidly on his horse, trying to collect his scattered senses.
"That was unrehearsed," Mac chuckled, as we drove on. "He's clearing out!
Reckon he didn't set out exactly hoping to meet us, though.
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