There was no choice but a camp on the wrong side of the river, and after
"dratting things" in general, and the Cullen in particular, Mac bowed to
the inevitable and began to unpack the team, stacking packbags and
saddles up on the rocks off the wet grass.
By the time the billy was boiling he was trying hard to be cheerful, but
without much success. "Oh, well," he said, as we settled down round the
fire, "this is the Land of Plenty of Time, that's one comfort. Another
whole week starts next Sunday"; then relapsing altogether he added
gloomily; "We'll be spending it here, too, by the look of things."
"Unless the missus feels equal to the horse's-tail trick" the Maluka
suggested.
The missus felt equal to anything BUT the tail trick and said so; and
conversation flagged for a while as each tried to hit upon some way out
of the difficulty.
Suddenly Mac gave his thigh a prodigious slap. "I've struck it!" he
shouted, and pointing to a thick wire rope just visible in the moonlight
as it stretched across the river from flood bank to flood bank, added
hesitatingly:
