catches the departure of its predecessor. But Gangoil was not far
outside the tropics, and there were no long summer nights. The heat
was intense; but there was a low soughing wind which seemed to moan
among the trees without moving them. As they crossed the little home
inclosure and the horse paddock, the track was just visible, the
trees being dead and the spaces open. About half a mile from the
house, while they were still in the horse paddock, Harry turned from
the track, and Jacko, of course, turned with him. "You can sit your
horse jumping, Jacko?" he asked.

"My word! jump like glory," answered Jacko. He was soon tried. Harry
rode at the bush fence--which was not, indeed, much of a fence, made
of logs lengthways and crossways, about three feet and a half high--
and went over it. Jacko followed him, rushing his horse at the leap,
losing his seat and almost falling over the animal's shoulders as he
came to the ground. "My word!" said Jacko, just saving himself by a
scramble; "who ever saw the like of that?"

"Why don't you sit in your saddle, you stupid young duffer?"

"Sit in my saddle! Why don't he jump proper? Well, you go on. I don't
know that I'm a duffer. Duffer, indeed! My word!" Heathcote had
turned to the left, leaving the track, which was, indeed, the main
road toward the nearest town and the coast, and was now pushing on
through the forest with no pathway at all to guide him. To ordinary
eyes the attempt to steer any course would have been hopeless. But an
Australian squatter, if he have any well-grounded claim to the
character of a bushman, has eyes which are not ordinary, and he has,
probably, nurtured within himself, unconsciously, topographical
instincts which are unintelligible to the inhabitants of cities.