Gerty's mother,who lived in town,was coming to see her over her trouble;Job had made arrangements with the town doctor,but prompt attendance could hardly be expected of a doctor who was very busy,who was too fat to ride,and who lived thirty miles away.
Job,in common with most Bushmen and their families round there,had more faith in Doc.Wild,a weird Yankee who made medicine in a saucepan,and worked more cures on Bushmen than did the other three doctors of the district together --maybe because the Bushmen had faith in him,or he knew the Bush and Bush constitutions --or,perhaps,because he'd do things which no `respectable practitioner'dared do.
I've described him in another story.Some said he was a quack,and some said he wasn't.There are scores of wrecks and mysteries like him in the Bush.He drank fearfully,and `on his own',but was seldom incapable of performing an operation.Experienced Bushmen preferred him three-quarters drunk:when perfectly sober he was apt to be a bit shaky.
He was tall,gaunt,had a pointed black moustache,bushy eyebrows,and piercing black eyes.His movements were eccentric.He lived where he happened to be --in a town hotel,in the best room of a homestead,in the skillion of a sly-grog shanty,in a shearer's,digger's,shepherd's,or boundary-rider's hut;in a surveyor's camp or a black-fellows'camp --or,when the horrors were on him,by a log in the lonely Bush.
It seemed all one to him.He lost all his things sometimes --even his clothes;but he never lost a pigskin bag which contained his surgical instruments and papers.Except once;then he gave the blacks 5Pounds to find it for him.
His patients included all,from the big squatter to Black Jimmy;and he rode as far and fast to a squatter's home as to a swagman's camp.
When nothing was to be expected from a poor selector or a station hand,and the doctor was hard up,he went to the squatter for a few pounds.
He had on occasions been offered cheques of 50Pounds and 100Pounds by squatters for `pulling round'their wives or children;but such offers always angered him.When he asked for 5Pounds he resented being offered a 10Pound cheque.He once sued a doctor for alleging that he held no diploma;but the magistrate,on reading certain papers,suggested a settlement out of court,which both doctors agreed to --the other doctor apologising briefly in the local paper.
It was noticed thereafter that the magistrate and town doctors treated Doc.Wild with great respect --even at his worst.
The thing was never explained,and the case deepened the mystery which surrounded Doc.Wild.
As Job Falconer's crisis approached Doc.Wild was located at a shanty on the main road,about half-way between Job's station and the town.
(Township of Come-by-Chance --expressive name;and the shanty was the `Dead Dingo Hotel',kept by James Myles --known as `Poisonous Jimmy',perhaps as a compliment to,or a libel on,the liquor he sold.)Job's brother Mac.was stationed at the Dead Dingo Hotel with instructions to hang round on some pretence,see that the doctor didn't either drink himself into the `D.T.'s'or get sober enough to become restless;to prevent his going away,or to follow him if he did;and to bring him to the station in about a week's time.
Mac.(rather more careless,brighter,and more energetic than his brother)was carrying out these instructions while pretending,with rather great success,to be himself on the spree at the shanty.
But one morning,early in the specified week,Job's uneasiness was suddenly greatly increased by certain symptoms,so he sent the black boy for the neighbour's wife and decided to ride to Come-by-Chance to hurry out Gerty's mother,and see,by the way,how Doc.Wild and Mac.were getting on.On the arrival of the neighbour's wife,who drove over in a spring-cart,Job mounted his horse (a freshly broken filly)and started.
`Don't be anxious,Job,'said Gerty,as he bent down to kiss her.
`We'll be all right.Wait!you'd better take the gun --you might see those dingoes again.I'll get it for you.'
The dingoes (native dogs)were very bad amongst the sheep;and Job and Gerty had started three together close to the track the last time they were out in company --without the gun,of course.
Gerty took the loaded gun carefully down from its straps on the bedroom wall,carried it out,and handed it up to Job,who bent and kissed her again and then rode off.
It was a hot day --the beginning of a long drought,as Job found to his bitter cost.He followed the track for five or six miles through the thick,monotonous scrub,and then turned off to make a short cut to the main road across a big ring-barked flat.
The tall gum-trees had been ring-barked (a ring of bark taken out round the butts),or rather `sapped'--that is,a ring cut in through the sap --in order to kill them,so that the little strength in the `poor'soil should not be drawn out by the living roots,and the natural grass (on which Australian stock depends)should have a better show.The hard,dead trees raised their barkless and whitened trunks and leafless branches for three or four miles,and the grey and brown grass stood tall between,dying in the first breaths of the coming drought.All was becoming grey and ashen here,the heat blazing and dancing across objects,and the pale brassy dome of the sky cloudless over all,the sun a glaring white disc with its edges almost melting into the sky.
