Free Beyond the Black Stump by Nevil Shute Page B

contact with the Flying Doctor service on the midday schedule, and spoke to Mr. Rogerson at Mannahill Station, who told them where they had gone astray. By the time they had got going again and had retraced their steps they had lost three hours, arriving at Mannahill at about five in the afternoon.
    It was too late for them to go on to Laragh that night, over strange bush tracks in the dark; the chances of getting lost again were too great. They stayed that night as guests of the Rogersons at Mannahill, and found that they had come in for the big social event of the district, the weekly picture show. There were several Land Rovers and Jeeps from the adjoining stations, one of which had come over a hundred miles. Amongst the visitors Stanton was quick to notice a remarkably pretty girl, red-headed and white-skinned, who had come in a jeep with a young man called David Cope from Lucinda Station.
    Mr. Bruce knew her well. “Hullo, Mollie,” he said. “How are you today?”
    “Good,” she replied.
    “Are your father and mother here?”
    “They didn’t come. They were expecting you with the Americans. Ma said they’d better stay at home in case you came. David brought me over.”
    “We got held up upon the road,” he said. “Look, let me introduce you to Mr. Laird. He’s the one who’ll be in charge of the party on your father’s land.” He called out down the verandah. “Hey—Stan! Come over here a minute. I want you to meet Miss Mollie Regan, from Laragh.”
    Stanton held out his hand. “Why, hello, Miss Regan, I’m certainly glad to know you,” he said. “I hoped we’d get on to your property today, but Don will have told you that we’re running late.”
    “I know,” she said. “What happened?”
    “I guess we just naturally got lost,” he said. “It’s kind of easy to go off on the wrong trail in this country.”
    “You got lost between here and Malvern Downs?”
    “That’s right.”
    “But didn’t you follow the tracks that the mail truck makes?”
    “One wheel rut’s just like another wheel rut to me, Miss Regan. I reckon when you’ve lived in Australia for a time you get so you can tell them apart.”
    She laughed. “Mollie’s the name, Mr. Laird. We use Christian names in this country unless you’re trying to be very formal.”
    “Fine,” he said. “I’m Stanton.”
    She turned, for David was behind her. “David,” she said, “this is Stanton Laird. They got lost between here and Malvern!”
    He laughed. “I got lost all along the road when I came up here first.”
    She wrinkled her brows. “It doesn’t seem possible. I mean, you just turn left at the burnt Mulga tree and go straight on.”
    He laughed again. “You’ll get a lot of this, Mr. Laird. When an Australian says you can’t mistake the road, that’s the time to get out your compass and start navigating.”
    The girl flushed and laughed. “I suppose it
is
a bit difficult for strangers.”
    “I’d agree with that,” said Stanton. He turned to David. “You aren’t Australian?”
    The other shook his head. “I’m English. They call us Pommies here. I’ve got Lucinda Station, next to Laragh.”
    The geologist nodded slowly, his mind running over the maps that he had studied. “That’s to the west of Laragh,” he said. “I guess we’ll be operating pretty near your boundary.”
    “That’s right,” said David. “If I can give you any help I hope you’ll come and tell me.”
    “That’s mighty nice of you.”
    Mr. Rogerson turned the corner of the verandah and came to the little group. “Drinks just outside the dining-room,” he said cheerfully. “Mr. Laird, what can I get you? Gin, whisky, or rum?”
    Stanton had travelled far, but Hazel still held him very close. “Thank you,” he said a little awkwardly, “but I don’t believe I’ll take anything right now.”
    “Nothing at all? Everybody’s drinking like so many fishes just around the corner.”
    It was getting a little more awkward,