Selected Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

then he might have been a liar himself—a third person said he was one. I heard that there was a fight over it, but the man who told me about the fight might not have been telling the truth.
    One part of the town swears at Brisbane when things go wrong, and the other part curses Sydney.
    The country looks as though a great ash-heap had been spread out there, and mulga scrub and firewood planted—and neglected. The country looks just as bad for a hundred miles round Hungerford, and beyond that it gets worse—a blasted, barren wilderness that doesn’t even howl. If it howled it would be a relief.
    I believe that Burke and Wills found Hungerford, and it’s a pity they did; but, if I ever stand by the graves of the men who first travelled through this country, when there were neither roads nor stations, nor tanks, nor bores, nor pubs, I’ll—I’ll take my hat off. There were brave men in the land in those days.
    It is said that the explorers gave the district its name chiefly because of the hunger they found there, which has remained there ever since. I don’t know where the “ford” comes in—there’s nothing to ford, except in flood-time. Hungerthirst would have been better. The town is supposed to be situated on the banks of a river called the Paroo, but we saw no water there, except what passed for it in a tank. The goats and sheep and dogs and the rest of the population drink there. It is dangerous to take too much of that water in a raw state.
    Except in flood-time you couldn’t find the bed of the river without the aid of a spirit-level and a long straight-edge. There isa Custom-house against the fence on the northern side. Apound of tea often costs six shillings on that side, and you can get a common lead pencil for fourpence at the rival store across the street in the mother province. Also a small loaf of sour bread sells for a shilling at the humpy aforementioned. Only about sixty per cent of the sugar will melt.
    We saw one of the storekeepers give a deadbeat swagman five shillings’ worth of rations to take him on into Queensland. The storekeepers often do this, and put it down on the loss side of their books. I hope the recording angel listens, and puts it down on the right side of his book.
    We camped on the Queensland side of the fence, and after tea had a yarn with an old man who was minding a mixed flock of goats and sheep; and we asked him whether he thought Queensland was better than New South Wales, or the other way about.
    He scratched the back of his head, and thought awhile, and hesitated like a stranger who is going to do you a favour at some personal inconvenience.
    At last, with the bored air of a man who has gone through the same performance too often before, he stepped deliberately up to the fence and spat over it into New South Wales. After which he got leisurely through and spat back on Queensland.
    “That’s what I think of the blanky colonies!” he said.
    He gave us time to become sufficiently impressed; then he said:
    “And if I was at the Victorian and South Australian border I’d do the same thing.”
    He let that soak into our minds, and added: “And the same with West Australia—and—and Tasmania.” Then he went away.
    The last would have been a long spit—and he forgot Maoriland.
    We heard afterwards that his name was Clancy, and he had that day been offered a job droving at “twenty-five shillings a week and find your own horse.” Also find your own horse-feed and tobacco and soap and other luxuries, at station prices. Moreover, if you lost your own horse you would have to findanother, and if that died or went astray you would have to find a third—or forfeit your pay and return on foot. The boss drover agreed to provide flour and mutton—when such things were procurable.
    Consequently, Clancy’s unfavourable opinion of the colonies.
    My mate and I sat down on our swags against the fence to talk things over. One of us was very deaf. Presently a black-tracker went