“But there’s even an advantage about having wooden legs at times.  Heard once of a chap that reckoned ’em just the thing.  Trod on a death-adder unexpected-like in his camp, and when the death-adder whizzed round to strike it, just struck wood, and the chap enjoyed his supper as usual that night.  That chap had a wooden leg,” he added, unnecessarily explicit; and then his argument being nicely rounded off, he lent a hand with the pack-bags.

The traveller filled in Dan’s evening, and Neaves’ mate coming through next day, gave the Quarters a fresh start and then just before that sundown we felt the first breath of victory from the monsoon—­just a few cool, gusty puffs of wind, that was all, and we ran out to enjoy them, only to scurry back into shelter, for our first shower was with us.  In pelting fury it rushed upon us out of the northwest, and rushing upon us, swept over us and away from us into the south-east, leaping from horizon to horizon in the triumph of victory.

As a matter of course, it left a sweltering awfulness behind it, but it was a promise of better things; and even as Dan was inquiring with a chuckle “whether that chap in the Quarters had got a bath out of it,” a second pelting fury rushed over us, filling Cheon’s heart with joy, and Billy with importance.  Unfortunately it did not fill the water-butts with water, but already the garden was holding up its head, and Billy was claiming that he had scored a win.

“Well?” he said, waylaying Cheon in the garden, “Well, me rainmaker?  Eh?” and Cheon’s superstitious heart bowed down before such evidence.

A ten-minutes’ deluge half an hour later licked up every grain of dust, filled the water-butts to overflowing, brought the insect pest to life as by magic, left a shallow pool in the heart of the billabong, and added considerably to Billy’s importance.  Had not Brown of the Bulls come in during that ten-minutes’ deluge, Cheon would probably have fallen to offering sacrifices to Billy.  As it was, he could only load him with plum-cake, before turning his attention to the welcoming of Brown of the Bulls.

“What was the boss drover’s fancy in the way of cooking?” he inquired of the missus, bent on his usual form of welcome, and the boss drover, a great burly Queenslander, with a voice as burly as his frame, answered for himself with a laughing “Vegetables! and as many as you think I’ve room for.”  Then, as Cheon gravely measured his inches with his eye, a burly chuckle shook the boss drover’s great frame as he repeated:  “Just as many as you think I can hold,” adding in half apology:  “been away from women and vegetables for fifteen months.”

“That’s nothing,” we told him, quoting the man from Beyanst, but hopeful to find the woman placed first.  Then acting on a hint from Cheon, we took him to the banana clump.

During the evening another five-minutes’ deluge gladdened our hearts, as the “lavender” bugs and other sweet pests of the Territory insect pest saddened our bodies.