With our combined male and female forces and the aid of a sapling lever we
rolled the thundering big logs together in the face of Hell's own fires;
and when there were no logs to roll it was tramp, tramp the day through,
gathering armfuls of sticks, while the clothes clung to our backs with a
muddy perspiration. Sometimes Dan and Dave would sit in the shade beside
the billy of water and gaze at the small patch that had taken so long to
do; then they would turn hopelessly to what was before them and ask Dad
(who would never take a spell) what was the use of thinking of ever
getting such a place cleared? And when Dave wanted to know why Dad
did n't take up a place on the plain, where there were no trees to grub
and plenty of water, Dad would cough as if something was sticking in his
throat, and then curse terribly about the squatters and political jobbery.
He would soon cool down, though, and get hopeful again.
"Look at the Dwyers," he'd say; "from ten acres of wheat they got seventy
pounds last year, besides feed for the fowls; they've got corn in now,
and there's only the two."
It was n't only burning off! Whenever there came a short drought the
waterhole was sure to run dry; then it was take turns to carry water from
the springs--about two miles.
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