It stretched out, turned over, struggled to its hands and knees,
and became an object. Then it crawled to the wall, against which
it slowly and painfully up-ended itself, and stood blinking round
for the water-bag, which hung from the verandah rafters
in a line with its shapeless red nose. It staggered forward,
held on by the cords, felt round the edge of the bag for the tot,
and drank about a quart of water. Then it staggered back against the wall,
stood for a moment muttering and passing its hand aimlessly over
its poor ruined head, and finally collapsed into a shapeless rum-smelling heap
and slept once more.

The jackeroo at the end of the verandah had awakened from his drunken sleep,
but had not moved. He lay huddled on his side, with his head on the swag;
the whole length of the verandah was before him; his eyes were wide open,
but his face was in the shade. Now he rose painfully and stood
on the ground outside, with his hands in his pockets,
and gazed out over the open for a while. He breathed a long breath, too --
with a groan in it. Then he lifted his swag quietly
from the end of the floor, shouldered it, took up his water-bag and billy,
and sneaked over the road, away from the place, like a thief.
He struck across the plain, and tramped on, hour after hour, mile after mile,
till the bright moon went down with a bright star in attendance
and the other bright stars waned, and he entered the timber
and tramped through it to the "cleared road", which stretched far and wide
for twenty miles before him, with ghostly little dust-clouds
at short intervals ahead, where the frightened rabbits crossed it.
And still he went doggedly on, with the ghastly daylight on him --
like a swagman's ghost out late. And a mongrel followed faithfully
all the time unnoticed, and wondering, perhaps, at his master.