“But how would a man live? There’s mighty little game there, even if he dared carry a gun; and scarcely any houses. And criminals have such appetites, you know!”
“Yes, I suppose that would be the difficulty, unless he had friends,” she said.
“Oh, given friends, a man could hide in the ranges well enough, unless they brought the black-trackers up,” the doctor said. “Very few people know much about that part of the district; the only men who ever go there are odd station-hands, looking for lost cattle. Anyhow, this man comes from the other side of Melbourne, so he’s not likely to try the ranges. I’d give him, at the outside, two days’ run; then they’ll find him under a culvert or a haystack, or he’ll have sense enough to come in and give himself up.”
“Wouldn’t you just hate to do that!” Jo ejaculated. “It would make you feel so small!”
“Well, I don’t know. There’s a certain amount of dignity in it; more, anyway, than in being dragged by the heels from under a haystack. No one can look dignified with straws in his hair! Poor wretch, I expect he’s feeling sorry for himself now. Liberty must look pretty good to you when you see a sudden chance of escaping from a constable; but I’ll guarantee he doesn’t know what to do with his liberty now he’s got it. Rather like Dead Sea apples—rosy enough on the outside, but dust and ashes when you bite them. However, there’s lunch, and I’m glad I’m not an escaped gaol-bird, especially if it’s been in the ice-chest—come along, girls!”
Lunch _had_ been in the ice-chest; the twins, enjoying crisp salad and firm, quivering jelly, openly envied the township opportunities of combating the hot weather.
“You just don’t know how lucky you are!” Jo said. “We have all sorts of bush dodges, of course; Coolgardie drip-safes and holes in the ground, and all that sort of thing; but, especially since this horrible sticky weather began, nothing seems to make much difference. The butter’s always oil, and everything else is warm and flabby. I’d love to take a pat of this butter home to Mother! Her appetite has gone to simply nothing.”
“You can have the butter!” said Mrs. Lawrence, laughing. “But why not send your mother in to us for a week? We should love to have her, and we’d take great care of her.”