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And the pair ran down to a deep brown pool in the burn and cleansed from their fingers the subtle aroma of fleeces. "Ugh! my clothes smell like a drover's. That's the worst of being a dabbler in most trades. You can never resist the temptation to try your hand." "But, really, your whole manner was most professional, Mr. Haystoun. Your language "
Musgrave Ranges," and his vivid imagination filled all sorts of details into the drover's bare statements about the dangers of the place. He noticed Yarloo looking intently at the distant peaks, and when he caught the boy's eye, a significant glance passed between them. They were both thinking of the lonely white man. But imaginary dangers soon gave place to present interests.
In appearance, Sax was of slighter build than his thick-set friend, Boof, but the drover's son had inherited from his father a natural toughness and an ability to endure privation and hardship which Vaughan, although he was quite as plucky, did not possess.
During all the years of his drover's life he kept himself free from the sins of intemperance and swearing. Once while riding out in a buggy with a friend, to look at some cattle, a thunder-storm came on, and his horse was killed in the shafts by lightning.
They stood panting beside the native on the ground, and looked at the drover. "You young whipper-snappers!" he shouted, advancing with threatening gestures. "You young whipper-snappers! I'll teach you to mind your own business. Get out of my way." But the exhausted boys stood firm. At all costs they meant to protect the bound man from the drover's anger. Mick hesitated for a moment.
When he came past the little hill where the lads were standing he was about a hundred yards away from them, and they could see him clearly. "Is it, Sax?" asked Vaughan excitedly. "Is it your pater?" The drover's son shook his head. "No chance," he said sadly. "My father's taller than that man. But can't he just ride, Boof?"
'I telled him not. But at that moment the heavy outer door was opened by Daniel Robson himself bright, broad, and rosy, a jolly impersonation of Winter. His large drover's coat was covered with snow-flakes, and through the black frame of the doorway might be seen a white waste world of sweeping fell and field, with the dark air filled with the pure down-fall.
After, breakfast this morning I sent them up into the drawing-room to be out of the way of the drover's meeting to be held in the bar, and when I went up to ask them about the lunch they would take with them on the river this. afternoon I heard no sound like and just whispered at the door a bit if I might come in.
Each member goes to the appointed place alone, avoiding as much as possible attracting the attention of the detectives whom they know are on the lookout. It is not their intention to have any mystery connected with their existence, yet they wish to work unhampered by the servants of the Magnates. For its semi-monthly conference the committee meets at Drover's hall.
In the wagon were bread and butter and boiled eggs and tea and doughnuts and cake and dried herring. The men built fires and made tea and ate their suppers, and sang, as the night fell, those olden ballads of the frontier "Barbara Allen," "Bonaparte's Dream," or the "Drover's Daughter." For days they were driving in the wild country.
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