THE rising Lambert had anticipated in August did not come off. For a few
days the country trembled on the verge of civil war, but the blow did not
fall. The trouble was averted; the anger remained in men's hearts. During
the lovely spring weather that followed Done saw much of the Bush. He and
Mike spent weeks prospecting about the Jim Crow district. They loitered
away a few restful days among the ranges, and for the first time Jim saw
a wattle-gully in full blaze, a stream of golden bloom sweeping along the
course of a little mountain creek as far as the eye could see, each tree
a huge bouquet, the whole mass foaming in the gentle breeze, a rich feast
of colour, lit up by a glowing noonday sun, and bordered by the subdued
green of the mountain gums. The delicate perfume stole up to where the
mates lay on the side of the range in peaceful enjoyment of the scene,
and Done, looking with half-closed eyes, day-dreaming, felt the
inspiration that has since driven about twenty-five per cent of the
native-born population of Australia desperately to poesy.
Beyond and below them stretched the Bush, an ocean of tree-tops, as level
as the windless sea, and over this green expanse shadows of fleecy clouds
chased each other. Presently Jim discovered a brown space in the
distance, and detected a thin column of smoke rising on occasions between
the vagrant winds. He called Burton's attention, and Mike turned
experienced eyes in that direction.
'A settler's clearing,' he said. 'No; by Jove, it's Macdougal's
homestead!'
'What!' cried Done, sitting up with a jerk. 'Donald Macdougal's station?'
'Yes, Monkey Mack's.' Burton rose to his feet and looked about him.
'There isn't a doubt,' he continued. 'That's Boobyalla all right. I was
over the country to the west once with cattle.'
'And since we came to Jim Crow I have been so near.'
''Bout twenty mile as the crow flies. Why, old man, you look all caved
in.'
'I'm greatly surprised. I thought Boobyalla was right away in the wilds.'