V 
JOE 
53 
the belts of jungle become less frequent, and the country 
assumes a dull and uninteresting aspect, mile after mile 
of shadeless, gray, sombre-looking gum-trees, poor and 
scantily clothed, stretch away in indefinite monotony. 
Here and there along the roads we passed teams of 
bullocks carrying stores, and the inevitable swagman, 
with all his earthly possessions on his back, tramping 
away to the land of silver and of gold. The road 
was a very up-and-down one, but “Joe,” the driver, 
a regular Australian bush boy, was such a splendid 
whip that even I was not nervous ; not even when 
night came on, and we got off the track, and the 
seven horses went as hard as they could through the 
gum-trees, crashing down young saplings, and grazing 
stumps by a hair’s breadth, but never once coming in 
contact with anything. 
As the night became darker and the road rougher, we 
could sometimes, through the dust, barely distinguish 
even the wheelers, and I held on more and more tightly, 
and wondered if it was instinct or sight that guided Joe. 
Suddenly, crash went one of the bars ; everyone had 
to get down, and it was an hour before it was patched 
up and we went on. We crossed the Barron River, 
where the fording place is a rocky ledge, so narrow, 
that an inch one way or the other would have set the 
horses swimming. “ It was just here,” said Joe, by 
way of encouraging me, “ that the coach went over 
into deep water not many months ago, and we had a 
rare old swim.” However, we splashed through with 
a dash, and up the bank, at the top of which we heard 
the welcome sound of dogs barking, while here and 
there the lights of the township showed up. In the 
pitch darkness it seemed to consist only of two hotels. 
Here I had my first experience of what is called an 
up-country inn ; we all had our supper together in 
