a that he'd
strike a place where we'd seen the colour of gold on our last
expedition, but weren't able then to investigate it. I've never been
bitten by the gold fever like some fellows, and I daresay that I've
missed chances. But I thought cattle were a safer investment, and I've
seen too much misery and destruction come from following that gold will
o' the wisp, for me to have been tempted to run after it.

Old Ninnis was the next to leave, I made him take the offer of a job
that he had. When it came to drawing water five miles for the
head-station, and keeping it in an iron tank sunk in the ground, with a
manhole and padlocked cover for fear of its being got at, the fewer
there were of us the better. Now the station is being run by the Boss
and the Malay boy, who is a sharp little chap, and more use in the
circumstances than any white man. We've killed the calves we were
trying to PODDY*. And the dogs--except one cattle dog--Veno--Biddy
would remember her; how she used to lollop about the front veranda
outside her room. Now, what the deuce made me write that!--Well, the
dog goes with me in the cart when I fetch water, and takes her drink
with the horses at the hole.

[*Poddy--to bring up by hand.]

I'm getting used to the life--making jobs in the daytime to keep myself
from feeling the place a worse hell than it really is. There's always
the water to be fetched and the two horses and the dog to be taken for
their big drink. If you could see me hoarding the precious
stuff--washing my face in the morning in a soup plate, and what's left
kept for night for the dog. When I want a bath I ride ten miles to the
bore. Then there's saddlery to mend, and dry-cleaning the place and
pipes between whiles--more of them than is good for me. Stores are low,
but I've still got enough of tobacco. I daresay it's a mercy there's no
whiskey--nothing but a bottle or two of brandy in case of
snake-bites--or I might have taken to it.

Thank God I've got a pretty strong will, and I've never done as I see
so many chaps do, find forgetfulness in drink--but there's no saying
what a man may come to. It's the nights that are the worst. I'm glad to
get up at dawn and see to the beasts. And there's that infernal
watching of the sky--looking out all the time for clouds that don't
come--or if they do, end in nothing. You know that brassy glare of the
sun rising that means always scorching dry heat? Think of it a hundred
times worse than you've e