She drove an American waggonette with a good width
and length of 'tray' behind, and on this occasion she had a pole and two
horses. In the trap were a new flock mattress and pillows, a generous
pair of new white blankets, and boxes containing necessaries,
delicacies, and luxuries. All round she was an excellent mother-in-law
for a man to have on hand at a critical time.

And, speaking of mother-in-law, I would like to put in a word for her
right here. She is universally considered a nuisance in times of peace
and comfort; but when illness or serious trouble comes home! Then it's
'Write to Mother! Wire for Mother! Send some one to fetch Mother! I'll
go and bring Mother!' and if she is not near: 'Oh, I wish Mother were
here! If Mother were only near!' And when she is on the spot, the
anxious son-in-law: 'Don't YOU go, Mother! You'll stay, won't you,
Mother?--till we're all right? I'll get some one to look after your
house, Mother, while you're here.' But Job Falconer was fond of his
mother-in-law, all times.

Mac. had some trouble in finding and catching one of the horses. Mrs
Spencer drove on, and Mac. and the doctor caught up to her about a mile
before she reached the homestead track, which turned in through the
scrubs at the corner of the big ring-barked flat.

Doc. Wild and Mac. followed the cart-road, and as they jogged along in
the edge of the scrub the doctor glanced once or twice across the flat
through the dead, naked branches. Mac. looked that way. The crows were
hopping about the branches of a tree way out in the middle of the flat,
flopping down from branch to branch to the grass, then rising hurriedly
and circling.

'Dead beast there!' said Mac. out of his Bushcraft.

'No--dying,' said Doc. Wild, with less Bush experience but more
intellect.

'There's some steers of Job's out there somewhere,' muttered Mac. Then
suddenly, 'It ain't drought--it's the ploorer at last! or I'm blanked!'

Mac. feared the advent of that cattle-plague, pleuro-pneumonia, which
was raging on some other stations, but had been hitherto kept clear of
Job's run.

'We'll go and see, if you like,' suggested Doc. Wild.

They turned out across the flat, the horses picking their way amongst
the dried tufts and fallen branches.

'Theer ain't no sign o' cattle theer,' said the doctor; 'more likely a
ewe in trouble about her lamb.'

'Oh, the blanky dingoes at the sheep,' said Mac. 'I wish we had a
gun--might get a shot at them.'