Over the Sliprails

by Henry Lawson
Preface

Of the stories in this volume many have already appeared
in the columns of [various periodicals], while several now appear in print

for the first time.
H. L.

Sydney, June 9th, 1900.
Contents

The Shanty-Keeper's Wife
A Gentleman Sharper and Steelman Sharper

An Incident at Stiffner's
The Hero of Redclay

The Darling River
A Case for the Oracle

A Daughter of Maoriland
New Year's Night

Black Joe
They Wait on the Wharf in Black

Seeing the Last of You
Two Boys at Grinder Brothers'

The Selector's Daughter
Mitchell on the "Sex" and Other "Problems"

The Master's Mistake
The Story of the Oracle

Over the Sliprails
The Shanty-Keeper's Wife

There were about a dozen of us jammed into the coach,
on the box seat and hanging on to the roof and tailboard as best we could.

We were shearers, bagmen, agents, a squatter, a cockatoo, the usual joker --
and one or two professional spielers, perhaps. We were

tired and stiff and nearly freeze 的过去分词">frozen -- too cold to talk and too irritable
to risk the inevitableargument which an interchange of ideas

would have led up to. We had been looking forward for hours, it seemed,
to the pub where we were to change horses. For the last hour or two

all that our united efforts had been able to get out of the driver
was a grunt to the effect that it was "'bout a couple o' miles."

Then he said, or grunted, "'Tain't fur now," a couple of times,
and refused to commit himself any further; he seemed grumpy

about having committed himself that far.
He was one of those men who take everything in dead earnest; who regard

any expression of ideas outside their own sphere of life as trivial,
or, indeed, if addressed directly to them, as offensive; who, in fact,

are darklysuspicious of anything in the shape of a joke or laugh
on the part of an outsider in their own particular dust-hole. He seemed to be

always thinking, and thinking a lot; when his hands were not both engaged,
he would tilt his hat forward and scratch the base of his skull

with his little finger, and let his jaw hang. But his intellectual powers
were mostly concentrated on a doubtful swingle-tree, a misfitting collar,

or that there bay or piebald (on the off or near side) with the sore shoulder.
Casual letters or papers, to be delivered on the road,

were matters which troubled him vaguely, but constantly --
like the abstract ideas of his passengers.

The joker of our party was a humourist of the dry order, and had been
slyly taking rises out of the driver for the last two or three stages.

But the driver only brooded. He wasn't the one to tell you straight
if you offended him, or if he fancied you offended him,

and thus gain your respect, or prevent a misunderstanding
which would result in life-long enmity. He might meet you in after years

when you had forgotten all about your trespass -- if indeed
you had ever been conscious of it -- and "stoush" you unexpectedly on the ear.

Also you might regard him as your friend, on occasion,
and yet he would stand by and hear a perfect stranger tell you

the most outrageous lies, to your hurt, and know that the stranger
was telling lies, and never put you up to it. It would never enter his head

to do so. It wouldn't be any affair of his -- only an abstract question.
It grew darker and colder. The rain came as if the freeze 的过去分词">frozen south were spitting

at your face and neck and hands, and our feet grew as big as camel's,
and went dead, and we might as well have stamped the footboards

with wooden legs for all the feeling we got into ours. But they were
more comfortable that way, for the toes didn't curl up and pain so much,

nor did our corns stick out so hard against the leather, and shoot.
We looked out eagerly for some clearing, or fence, or light

-- some sign of the shanty where we were to change horses -- but there was
nothing save blackness all round. The long, straight, cleared road

was no longer relieved by the ghostly patch of light, far ahead,
where the bordering tree-walls came together in perspective

and framed the ether. We were down in the bed of the bush.
We pictured a haven of rest with a suspended lamp burning

in the frosty air outside and a big log fire in a cosy parlour off the bar,
and a long table set for supper. But this is a land of contradictions;

wayside shanties turn up unexpectedly and in the most unreasonable places,
and are, as likely as not, prepared for a banquet when you

are not hungry and can't wait, and as cold and dark as a bushman's grave
when you are and can.

Suddenly the driver said: "We're there now." He said this
as if he had driven us to the scaffold to be hanged, and was fiercely" target="_blank" title="ad.凶猛地，残忍地">fiercely glad

that he'd got us there safely at last. We looked but saw nothing;
then a light appeared ahead and seemed to come towards us;

and presently we saw that it was a lantern held up by a man in a slouch hat,
with a dark bushy beard, and a three-bushel bag around his shoulders.

He held up his other hand, and said something to the driver
in a tone that might have been used by the leader of a search party

who had just found the body. The driver stopped and then went on slowly.
"What's up?" we asked. "What's the trouble?"

"Oh, it's all right," said the driver.
"The publican's wife is sick," somebody said, "and he wants us

to come quietly."
The usual little slab and bark shanty was suggested in the gloom,

with a big bark stable looming in the background. We climbed down
like so many cripples. As soon as we began to feel our legs

and be sure we had the right ones and the proper allowance of feet, we helped,
as quietly as possible, to take the horses out and round to the stable.

"Is she very bad?" we asked the publican, showing as much concern as we could.
"Yes," he said, in a subdued voice of a rough man who had spent

several anxious, sleepless nights by the sick bed of a dear one.
"But, God willing, I think we'll pull her through."

Thus encouraged we said, sympathetically: "We're very sorry to trouble you,
but I suppose we could manage to get a drink and a bit to eat?"

"Well," he said, "there's nothing to eat in the house,
and I've only got rum and milk. You can have that if you like."

One of the pilgrims broke out here.
"Well of all the pubs," he began, "that I've ever --"

"Hush-sh-sh!" said the publican.
The pilgrim scowled and retired to the rear. You can't express

your feelings freely when there's a woman dying close handy.
"Well, who says rum and milk?" asked the joker, in a low voice.

"Wait here," said the publican, and disappeared into the little front passage.
Presently a light showed through a window, with a scratched and fly-bitten

B and A on two panes, and a mutilated R on the third, which was broken.
A door opened, and we sneaked into the bar. It was like

having drinks after hours where the police are strict and independent.
When we came out the driver was scratching his head and looking at the harness

on the verandah floor.
"You fellows 'll have ter put in the time for an hour or so.

The horses is out back somewheres," and he indicated the interior of Australia
with a side jerk of his head, "and the boy ain't back with 'em yet."