He travelled by sea to Port Faraway, a tropical sweltering township by the Northern seas of Australia, and when he reached it felt like one of the heroes in Tennyson’s Lotus Eaters—he had come “into a land wherein it seemed always afternoon.”
Reeves, the buffalo shooter, was a well-known man, but to find his camp was another matter. No one seemed to have energy enough to take much interest in the quest.
Hugh interviewed a leading citizen at the hotel, and got very little satisfaction. He said, “I want to get out to Reeves’s camp. Do you know where it is, and how one gets there?”
“Well,” said the leading citizen, putting his feet up on the arms of his long chair and gasping for air, “Le’s see! Reeves’s camp—ah! Where is he camped now?”
“I don’t know,” said Hugh. “I wish I did. That’s what I want to find out.”
“Hopkins’d know. Hopkins, the storekeeper. He sends out the supplies. Did you ask him?”
“No,” said Hugh. “I didn’t. I’ll go and ask him now.”
“Too hot to bustle round now,” said the leading citizen, lighting his pipe. “What’ll you have to drink? Have some square; it’s the best drink here.”
Hugh thought it well to fall in with the customs of the inhabitants, so he had a stiff gin-and-water at nine in the morning, a thing he had never done, or even seen done, in his life before. Then he went over in the blazing sunlight to the storekeeper, and asked whether he knew where Reeves’ camp was.
“That I don’t,” said the storekeeper. “I send out what they want by a Malay who sails a one-masted craft round the coast, and goes up the river to their camp, and brings the hides back. They send a blackfellow to let me know when they want any stuff, and where to send it.”
“Perhaps I could go out with the next lot of stuff,” said Hugh. “When will they want it, do you think?”
“Well, they mightn’t want any more. They might go on now till the wet season, and then they’ll come in.”
“Oh, a couple of months, likely. Perhaps three months. Perhaps there won’t be none at all to speak of. What’ll you have?”
“Oh, I have just had a drink, thanks. Fact is, I’m a bit anxious to get out to this camp. It’s a bit important. You don’t know where they are for certain?”
“Lord knows! Anywhere! Might be on one river, might be on another. They’ll come in in the wet season. Better have a drink, anyhow. You must have something. What’ll it be—square? Beer? Can’t stand beer in this climate, myself.”