"Oh, it's not so bad. There's a store there, and a few mines
scattered about. Mostly Chinese mines. The storekeeper there's
a great soaker, nearly always on the drink. Name's Sampson. He'll
tell you where to find Tommy Prince. Prince and his mates have a
claim twelve miles out from there, and if Tommy ain't gone to the
Oriental, he might go down with you."
"Supposing Tommy's at his claim, twelve miles out," said Hugh, "how
can I get out?"
"I dunno," said the storekeeper, who was getting tired of talking
so long without a drink. "I dunno how you'll get out there. Better
have a drink--what'll you have?"
Hugh walked out of the store in despair. He found himself engaged
in what appeared to be an endless chase after a phantom Considine,
and the difficulties in his way semed insuperable. Yet how could
he go back and tell them all at home that he had failed? What
would they think of him? The thought made him miserable; and he
determined, if he failed, never to go back to the old station at
all.
So he returned to his hotel, packed his valise, and set out to look
for the pack-horse man. He found him fairly sober; soon bargained
to be allowed to ride one of the horses, and in due course was
deposited at the Margaret--a city consisting of one galvanised-iron
building, apparently unoccupied. His friend dismounted and had a
drink with him out of his flask. They kicked at the door unavailingly;
then his mate went on into the indefinite, leaving him face to face
with general desolation.
The Margaret store was the only feature in the landscape--a small
building with a heap of empty bottles in the immediate foreground,
and all round it the grim bush, a vista of weird twisted trees
and dull grey earth with scanty grass. At the back were a well, a
windlass, and a trough for water, round which about a hundred goats
were encamped. Hugh sat and smoked, and looked at the prospect.
By-and-by out of the bush came two men, a Chinaman and a white man.
The Chinaman was like all Chinamen; the white man was a fiery,
red-faced, red-bearded, red-nosed little fellow. The Chinee
was dragging a goat along by the horns, the goat hanging back and
protesting loudly in semi-human screams; every now and again a black
mongrel dog would make sudden fiendish dashes at the captive, and
fasten its teeth in its neck. This made it bellow louder; but the
Chinaman, with the impassibility of his race, dragged goat, dog,
and all along, without the slightest show of interest.
The white man trudged ahead, staring fixedly in front; when they
reached the store he stared at Hugh as if he were the Bunyip, but said
no word. Then he unlocked the door, went in, and came out with a
large knife, with which he proceeded to murder the goat scientifically.
The Chinee meanwhile bailed up the rest of the animals, and caught
and milked a couple of "nannies," while a patriarchal old "billy"
walked fragrantly round the yard, uttering hoarse "buukhs" of
defiance.