It was half-past eleven when he arrived at Hook's Hotel, and,
as his pony was still too lame to travel, he bought the horse he had
hired, and set out with the Sale mailman. At the Moe he found Angus
McMillan, William Montgomery, and their stockmen, afraid to cross the
creek on account of the flood, and they had eaten all their
provisions. Before dark a black gin came over in a canoe from the
accommodation hut on the other side of the creek, having heard the
travellers cooeying. They told her they wanted something to eat, but
it was too dangerous for her to cross the water again that night. A
good fire was kept burning but it was a wretched time. It rained
heavily, a gale of wind was blowing, and trees kept falling down in
all directions. Scott, the hut-keeper, sent the gin over in the
canoe next morning with a big damper, tea, sugar, and meat, which
made a very welcome breakfast for the hungry travellers.
They stayed there two days and two nights, and as the flood was still
rising, they resolved to try to cross the creek at all risks,
preferring to face the danger of death by drowning rather than to die
slowly of starvation. Each man took off his clothes, all but his
flannel shirt and drawers, strapped them to the pommel of his saddle,
threw the stirrup irons over the saddle, and stopped them with a
string under the horse's belly to keep them from getting foul in the
trees and scrub.
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