they looked drearier than usual, because the rain had darkened
the posts and rails. Small plain beyond, covered with water and tufts
of grass. The inevitable, God-forgotten "timber," black in the distance;
dull, grey sky and misty rain over all. A small, dark-looking flock
of sheep was crawling slowly in across the flat from the unknown, with
three men on horse-back zigzagging patiently behind. The horses just
moved--that was all. One man wore an oilskin, one an old tweed overcoat,
and the third had a three-bushel bag over his head and shoulders.

Had we returned an hour later, we should have seen the sheep huddled
together in a corner of the yard, and the three horses hanging up
outside the local shanty.

We stayed at Nyngan--which place we refrain from sketching--for a few
hours, because the five trucks of cattle of which we were in charge
were shunted there, to be taken on by a very subsequent goods train.
The Government allows one man to every five trucks in a cattle-train. We
shall pay our fare next time, even if we have not a shilling left over
and above. We had haunted local influence at Comanavadrink for two long,
anxious, heart-breaking weeks ere we got the pass; and we had put up
with all the indignities, the humiliation--in short, had suffered
all that poor devils suffer whilst besieging Local Influence. We only
thought of escaping from the bush.

The pass said that we were John Smith, drover, and that we were
available for return by ordinary passenger-train within two days, we
think--or words in that direction. Which didn't interest us. We might
have given the pass away to an unemployed in Orange, who wanted to go
out back, and who begged for it with tears in his eyes; but we didn't
like to injure a poor fool who never injured us--who was an entire
stranger to us. He didn't know what Out Back meant.

Local Influence had given us a kind of note of introduction to be
delivered to the cattle-agent at the yards that morning; but the agent
was not there--only two of his satellites, a Cockney colonial-experience
man, and a scrub-town clerk, both of whom we kindly ignore. We got on
without the note, and at Orange we amused ourself by reading it. It
said:

"Dear Old Man--Please send this beggar on; and I hope he'll be landed
safely at Orange--or--or wherever the cattle go--yours,---"

We had been led to believe that the bullocks were going to Sydney. We
took no further interest in those cattle.

After Nynga