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 to 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