Poor Jim brightened up at the mention of dinner-time, for, boylike,
he was getting very hungry, and as he wasn't done growing
he had no end of an appetite. I was hungry enough for the matter of that,
but I wouldn't own to it.

`Well, we shall come to somewhere, I suppose,' says Jim, when father was gone.
`Blest if I didn't think he was going to keep us wandering
in this blessed Nulla Mountain all day. I wish I'd never seen
the blessed cattle. I was only waiting for you to hook it
when we first seen the brands by daylight, and I'd ha' been off
like a brindle "Mickey" down a range.'

`Better for us if we had,' I said; `but it's too late now.
We must stick to it, I suppose.'

We had kept the cattle going for three or four miles
through the thickest of the country, every now and then steering our course
by the clear round top of Sugarloaf, that could be seen for miles round,
but never seemed to get any nearer, when we came on a rough sort of log-fence,
which ran the way we were going.

`I didn't think there were any farms up here,' I said to Jim.

`It's a "break",' he said, almost in a whisper. `There's a "duffing-yard"
somewhere handy; that's what's the matter.'

`Keep the cattle along it, anyway. We'll soon see what it leads to.'

The cattle ran along the fence, as if they expected to get
to the end of their troubles soon. The scrub was terribly thick in places,