THE OPEN ROAD.

King Country Chronicle, Volume VII, Issue 543, 19 February 1913, Page 7

THE OPEN ROAD.

WEST AUSTRALIA. Where the monotonous stosk-route cuts through the vast virgin forestlands and far-reaching scrub-lands of; wild Western Australia, I am at one with the free companions of the everopen road. Many hundred of leagues north and south stretches that rough and heavy track, and here, moving leisurely from camp to camp, from well to well, by day and night the big droves of lean horned cattle come with a thunderous tramp as of an army on the march. Huddled together, roan, red, black, and white wild-eyed, bellowing roobs, that, scenLing water at the end of a long thirsty stage, suddenly stampede, an irresistible phalanx overbearing all opposition. Cn their flanks ride tireless drovers, lean as ibe cattle they tend, i.cstriding thin and wiry horses. The deep brool of a maddensd bull, the rifle-crack of the curling stock-whip, the gruff voices of centaur-likc men, these sounds come to me of an evening as I stand in tb.3 green forestclearing gating ( T o \n the darkening track. Or, beneath the stars, by the wayside fire, when the crackling logs hurl a myriad golden sparks upward, we foregather while the billy boils and drovers make their frugal meal. Tough, indomitable fellows these, all whipcord and sinew, as full of resource as old Ulysses; himself, the "many-co'.inselled" wanderer : nomad ic men, who by reason of their constant communing with nature in her every mood seem to have drawn from her great l:cscm something of her own infinite strength in reserve-power lying latent, the quiet confidence which comes to those who dwell apart from crowded cities, who hear the call of the wild for ever ringing in their cars, end unquestionably obey its imperative command. Quaint legend and wise bush-lore I ha-e learnt from the bearded lips of these big-hearted, kindly folk, smoking together over the camp-fire of nights, when the moon rose big and vellow above, the barren ranges, and the curlews ci'ied eerily along,' the flooded flats.

Occasionally a plodding swagman *cornes by, bent beneath the weight of his worldly possessions—silent, uncommunicative vagrants for the most part, reminding me somewhat of the tramps on that old road of my boyhood's days twelve thousand miles away now. They beg a little flour or a stick of tobacco maybe, and then cn again into the unknown. I have never sighted one of these passing ships a second time : we hail one another in friendly spirit and go upon our several ways with a cheery "Bonne fortune, comrade."—"Chambers's Journal."