“Not it,” Dan persisted, unfortunately bent on argument; “not at this quarter of the moon, and besides it was moonlight all evening,” and, that being a strong peg to hang his argument on, investigating heads appeared from various nets.  “Seem to think I don’t know dawn when I see it,” Dan added, full of scorn for the camp’s want of observation; but before we had time to wither before his scorn, Jack turned the tables for us with his usual quiet finality.  “That’s the west you’re looking at,” he said.  “The moon’s just set”; and the curtain of Dan’s net dropped instantly.

“Told you he was a bally ass,” the Fizzer shouted in his delight, and promising Dan something later on, he lay down to rest.

Dan, however, was hopelessly roused.  “Never did that before,” gurgled out of his net, just as we were dropping off once more; but a withering request from the Dandy to “gather experience somewhere else,” silenced him till dawn, when he had the wisdom to rise without further reveille.

After breakfast we all separated again:  the Dandy to his yard-building at the Yellow Hole, and the rest of us, with the cattle boys, in various directions, to see where the cattle were, each party with its team of horses, and carrying in its packs a bluey, an oilskin, a mosquito net, a plate, knife, and fork apiece, as well as a “change of duds” and a bite of tucker for all:  the bite of tucker to be replenished with a killer when necessary, the change of duds to be washed by the boys also when necessary, and the plate to serve for all courses, the fastidious turning it over for the damper and jam course.

The Maluka spent one day with Dan beyond the “frontgate”—­his tail wagging along behind as a matter of course—­another day passed boundary-riding, inspecting water-holes, and doubling back to the Dandy’s camp to see his plans; then, picking up the Quiet Stockman, we struck out across country, riding four abreast through the open forest-lands, and were camped at sundown, in the thick of the cattle, miles from the Dandy’s camp, and thirty miles due north from the homestead.  “Whatever do you do with your time?” asked the South folk.

Dan was in high spirits:  cattle were coming in everywhere, and another beautiful permanent “water” had been discovered in unsuspected ambush.  To know all the waters of a run is important; for they take the part of fences, keeping the cattle in certain localities; and as cattle must stay within a day’s journey or so of water, an unknown water is apt to upset a man’s calculations.

As the honour of finding the hole was all Dan’s, it was named DS. in his honour, and we had waited beside it while he cut his initials deep into the trunk of a tree, deploring the rustiness of his education as he carved.  The upright stroke of the D was simplicity itself, but after that complications arose.

“It’s always got me dodged which way to turn the darned thing,” Dan said, scratching faint lines both ways, and standing off to decide the question.  We advised turning to the right, and the D was satisfactorily completed, but S proved the “dead finish,” and had to be wrestled with separately.