After a consultation across the river in long-drawn-out syllables, Jack
decided on a horse muster for the return trip--genuine this time--and
went on his way, after appointing to meet us at Knock-up camp next
evening. But our horses refusing to leave the deep green feed, we settled
down just where we were, beside the river, and formed a curious
camping-ground for ourselves, a small space hacked out and trampled down,
out of the dense rank grass that towered above and around us.
But this was to be a record trip for discomfort. Dan, on opening out the
tucker-bags, announced ruefully that our supply of meat had "turned on
us"; and as our jam-tin had "blown," we feared we were reduced to damper
only, until the Maluka unearthed a bottle of anchovy paste, falsely
labelled "Chicken and Ham." "Lot's wife," Dan called it, after "tackling
some as a relish."
Birds were everywhere about the lagoons--ducks, shags, great geese, and
pigmy geese, hovering and settling about them in screaming clouds; and
after dinner, deciding we might as well have a bit of game for supper,
we walked across the open salt-bush plain to the Big Red Lily.
Pages:
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335