But over and above these thoughts came that of the great range itself.
What was beyond it? Ah! who could say? There was no one in the whole
world who had the smallest idea, save those who were themselves on the
other side of it—if, indeed, there was any one at all. Could I hope to
cross it? This would be the highest triumph that I could wish for; but
it was too much to think of yet. I would try the nearer range, and see
how far I could go. Even if I did not find country, might I not find
gold, or diamonds, or copper, or silver? I would sometimes lie flat
down to drink out of a stream, and could see little yellow specks among
the sand; were these gold? People said no; but then people always said
there was no gold until it was found to be abundant: there was plenty
of slate and granite, which I had always understood to accompany gold;
and even though it was not found in paying quantities here, it might be
abundant in the main ranges. These thoughts filled my head, and I could
not banish them.
CHAPTER II. IN THE WOOL-SHED
At last shearing came; and with the shearers there was an old native,
whom they had nicknamed Chowbok—though, I believe, his real name was
Kahabuka. He was a sort of chief of the natives, could speak a little
English, and was a great favourite with the missionaries. He did not do
any regular work with the shearers, but pretended to help in the yards,
his real aim being to get the grog, which is always more freely
circulated at shearing-time: he did not get much, for he was apt to be
dangerous when drunk; and very little would make him so: still he did
get it occasionally, and if one wanted to get anything out of him, it
was the best bribe to offer him. I resolved to question him, and get as
much information from him as I could. I did so. As long as I kept to
questions about the nearer ranges, he was easy to get on with—he had
never been there, but there were traditions among his tribe to the
effect that there was no sheep-country, nothing, in fact, but stunted
timber and a few river-bed flats. It was very difficult to reach; still
there were passes: one of them up our own river, though not directly
along the river-bed, the gorge of which was not practicable; he had
never seen any one who had been there: was there not enough on this
side? But when I came to the main range, his manner changed at once. He
became uneasy, and began to prevaricate and shuffle. In a very few
minutes I could see that of this too there existed traditions in his
tribe; but no efforts or coaxing could get a word from him about them.
At last I hinted about grog, and presently he feigned consent: I gave
it him; but as soon as he had drunk it he began shamming intoxication,
and then went to sleep, or pretended to do so, letting me kick him
pretty hard and never budging.
I was angry, for I had to go without my own grog and had got nothing
out of him; so the next day I determined that he should tell me before
I gave him any, or get none at all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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