"It'll be brought in as justifiable homicide; that's all." Then
reconnoitring the enemy from the platform, he "feared" we were "about to
be boycotted."
There certainly were very few men on the station, and the Man-in-Charge
recognising one of them as the landlord of the Playford, assured us there
was nothing to fear from that quarter. "You see, you represent business
to him," he explained.
Every one but the landlord seemed to have urgent business in the office
or at the far end of the platform, but it was quickly evident that there
was nothing to fear from him; for, finding himself left alone to do the
honours of the Creek, he greeted us with an amused: "She doesn't look up
to sample sent by telegram"; and I felt every meeting would be, at least,
unconventional. Then we heard that as Mac had "only just arrived from the
Katherine, he couldn't leave his horses until they were fixed up"; but
the landlord's eyes having wandered back to the "Goer," he winked
deliberately at the Maluka before inviting us to "step across to the
Pub."
The Pub seemed utterly deserted, and with another wink the landlord
explained the silence by saying that "a cyclone of some sort" had swept
most of his "regulars" away; and then he went shouting through the
echoing passages for a "boy" to "fetch along tea."
Before the tea appeared, an angry Scotch voice crept to us through thin
partitions, saying:
