‘It would be difficult to choose the easier task. Will was to command a lot of half-tamed naked Myalls, as yet hardly to be trusted, reprisals being still freely indulged in on that frontier territory between the blacks and itinerant station hands. The shearers were composed of the human scum always to be found floating near the border of civilisation, like the rubbish forced before an advancing flood. It was no unusual occurrence to have the full complement of men in the morning, and in the afternoon, upon the unexpected arrival of an inspector of police, the shearing board would be deserted. All but a brace “cachéd” in the mulga. They showed up in the inverse proportion, of course, to the fact of their being “wanted.” Not that the native police troubled themselves much about them. But a criminal hides from a policeman instinctively, as doth the young wood-duck from the sportsman. All this makes the management of this class of men the more difficult, as, if you sack them in your righteous wrath, you can by no possibility get others.’ ‘Cannot the blacks be taught to shear?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp. ‘They are the natural labourers of the land―and _ads ripti glebæ_ too, as from what I learn they dare not leave their own district from fear of other tribes.’ ‘It is weary work shearing with them. They are neat but painfully slow, and constitutionally lazy. The Anglo-Saxon is made up of faults, not to say vices, but there is no worker on the earth’s surface like him.’ ‘Can’t be licked,’ murmured Sparks contemplatively, removing his pipe and mixing himself another whisky. ‘Tell me when you’ve finished shearing and want help to load up.’ ‘On the 19th,’ continued Brandon calmly, all unheeding Mr. Parklands’ practical arrangement of the narrative, ‘all was ready. Will Lorton was to commence washing early next morning. They did not begin with the usual flock. But in that land “the most unaccustomed thing is custom.” ‘At the dawn-bird’s cry from the aged trees, I sang out “All aboard!” and waking Will, we both rushed, robed in our blankets, to the lagoon, for a plunge into its sad-coloured waters, to emerge smoking in reactionary glow, and feeling fit to fight for a king’s ransom. ‘Then, habited in the primitive garb of the far north land, Will made for the blacks’ camp, to see his Myalls off to the wash-pool. ‘On Tthoondula dwelt a grizzled, savage-looking old warrior, called by the whites “Hutkeeper.” His duty was to tend the home flock. He was a chief in his tribe, and did not render himself conspicuous by wearing clothes. The English language had proved too difficult for his limited intelligence. He received food and tobacco for his slight services.