"Oh, yes." She kissed him, her hand lingering wistfully on his arm--she could feel the hard muscles under the shirt sleeve. "I'd rather be going with you, Dick."
"Then why ever don't you come?" Dick ejaculated.
"Because it wouldn't be manners," she said, and laughed. "Never mind, I'll hear all about your adventures to-night." She kissed him again suddenly. "Now go on; you mustn't keep the others waiting." From her window she watched him racing across to the stables. Presently they all came out, and went down the paddock helter-skelter, Agility reefing and plunging in the lead. She watched them until the trees swallowed them up.
Early as they were the ration cart had been earlier still. Drawn by two stout mules, and driven by old Harry, it had set out more than an hour before, for it had to visit a number of camps and huts, and the tracks between them were rough and sandy. And, whatever may happen, the ration cart must not fail. To the men in the lonely huts on the out stations it is the one link with civilisation, and the food it brings does not count so much in their longing for its monthly visit as its cargo of mental "tucker"--news, letters, papers, the sound of a fresh voice, the chance of a little new companionship for men who have lived together so long that there is often little between them but silence.
"I don't know how these fellows stick it," said Downes, as they rode along. "Most of 'em come in to the homestead about once in three months; between those times all they see is the ration cart once a month, and an occasional visit from the boss or some of us. You'd want to be awfully keen on your mate to be able to live with another fellow like that."
"Oh, sometimes. Not often, though. Of course there are plenty of stories of fellows who have gone off their heads and murdered their mate, but we haven't had them going in for those capers on this station. Now and then a man comes in and asks for his cheque--says he can't stand Bill or Jim, or whoever he is, any more. Then the boss has to hustle to get Bill or Jim another mate."
"Like the old story of two mates who couldn't agree about the bird," said Stephen.
"Oh, it's a chestnut. They were going back to their hut one night and one man said, 'There's a magpie up in that tree.' The other chap said nothing till a long while after, and then he said, 'That wasn't a magpie--it was a crow.' The first man didn't answer; but next morning his mate saw him rolling up his swag. He said, 'Where y' goin' Bill?' The other fellow slung his swag up on his shoulder. 'Too much bloomin' argument about this camp,' he said--and went."