account
of the cattle. It was a mixed-up job all round. You see it was all big
runs round there, and we had to keep the bullocks moving along the route
all the time, or else get into trouble for trespass. The agent wasn't
going to go to the expense of putting the cattle in a paddock until
the Boss sobered up; there was very little grass on the route or the
travelling-stock reserves or camps, so we had to keep travelling for
grass.

The world might wobble and all the banks go bung, but the cattle have
to go through--that's the law of the stock-routes. So the agent wired
to the owners, and, when he got their reply, he sacked the Boss and sent
the cattle on in charge of another man. The new Boss was a drover coming
south after a trip; he had his two brothers with him, so he didn't want
me and Andy; but, anyway, we were full up of this trip, so we arranged,
between the agent and the new Boss, to get most of the wages due to
us--the Boss had drawn some of our stuff and spent it.

We could have started on the back track at once, but, drunk or sober,
mad or sane, good or bad, it isn't Bush religion to desert a mate in a
hole; and the Boss was a mate of ours; so we stuck to him.

We camped on the creek, outside the town, and kept him in the camp with
us as much as possible, and did all we could for him.

'How could I face his wife if I went home without him?' asked Andy, 'or
any of his old mates?'

The Boss got himself turned out of the pub. where the barmaid was, and
then he'd hang round the other pubs., and get drink somehow, and fight,
and get knocked about. He was an awful object by this time, wild-eyed
and gaunt, and he hadn't washed or shaved for days.

Andy got the constable in charge of the police station to lock him up
for a night, but it only made him worse: we took him back to the camp
next morning and while our eyes were off him for a few minutes he
slipped away into the scrub, stripped himself naked, and started to hang
himself to a leaning tree with a piece of clothes-line rope. We got to
him just in time.

Then Andy wired to the Boss's brother Ned, who was fighting the drought,
the rabbit-pest, and the banks, on a small station back on the border.
Andy reckoned it was about time to do something.

Perhaps the Boss hadn't been quite right in his head before he started
drinking--he had acted queer some time, now we came to think of
it; maybe he'd got a touch of sunstroke or got brooding over his
troubles-