The Derelict Aeroplane

BECAUSE THE DAY was still and cool and invigorating, Elizabeth elected to accompany her father on a tour of the fifteen hundred square miles of country called Coolibah. The sample of late October weather in the far west of Queensland had nothing to do with Nettlefold’s decision to make this tour of the great cattle station of which he had been the manager for thirty-two years. With him such a tour came within the ambit of routine work, but on this occasion he wished to inspect a mob of store cattle before they were handed over to the drovers who were to take them to Bourke for the Sydney market; and, further, he wanted to inspect the condition of the feed in a huge paddock, named Emu Lake, which had been resting for two years.

“I am glad you came, Elizabeth,” he said, while the comfortable car took them ever westward of the great Diamantina River.

“I am, too,” the girl replied quickly. “The house is always very quiet when you’re away, and heaven knows it’s quiet enough when you are home.” Elizabeth smiled. “And then when you are away something always happens to the radio.”

Her beautiful face gave the lie direct to those who say that the Queensland climate ruins feminine complexions. Her hair was deep brown, and so, too, were her large eyes. The colouring of her face was fresh, and only her lips were touched with rouge.

“This is the fourth time you have come with me since we took to cars,” he pointed out after a little silence.

“The fifth time,” she corrected him.

Laughter narrowed his eyes and rounded his brick-red face.

“Well, a car is not so slow and boring as the buckboard used to be. I remember the first occasion you came out with me. You were only five years old, and, although we joined forces against your mother, it was a hard tussle to get her to let you go.”