"You'll find camp on the bald ridge
north the fire line. There's a little feed there."
Having completed his defence, he straightened his back to look at them.
His face was grimed a dingy black through which rivulets of sweat had
made streaks.
"Had it pretty hot all afternoon," he proffered. "Got the fire line
done, though. How're those canteens--full? I'll trade you my empty one."
He took a long draught. "That tastes good. Went dry about three o'clock,
and haven't had a drop since."
They left him there, leaning on the handle of his hoe. Jack Pollock
seemed to know where the place described as the camp-site was located,
for after various detours and false starts, he led them over the brow of
a knoll to a tiny flat among the pine needles where they were greeted by
whinnies from unseen animals. It was here very dark. Jack scraped
together and lit some of the pine needles. By the flickering light they
saw the four saddles dumped down in a heap.
"There's a side hill over yander with a few bunches of grass and some of
these blue lupins," said Jack. "It ain't much in the way of hoss-feed,
but it'll have to do.
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