A monthly mail, however, and the telegraph line places the community much nearer civilised parts than its geographical position would lead one to suppose.  The arrival of the mail, or of the packers, is a great event, more especially since no one knows what they may bring.  Thus a train of pack-horses arrived at a time when flour was badly needed, but each load consisted of either sugar or lager-beer—­both excellent articles but hardly adaptable to bread-making.  The climate, situation, surroundings, and want of means of recreation all combine to make the publican’s business a lucrative one.  When, as sometimes happens, a fossicker comes in with a “shammy” full of gold, and lays himself out to make himself and every one else happy, then indeed the hotel-keeper’s harvest is a rich one.  And since nobody cares much whether he buys his liquor, or makes it of red-pepper, kerosene, tobacco, methylated spirits, and what not, the publican’s outlay in “only the best brands” need not be excessive.

Christmas and New Year’s Day were, of course, great days of revel; athletic sports were held, and horse-races.  The latter were not quite a success; the entries were very few, and the meeting was nearly resolving itself into a prize-fight when one owner lodged a complaint against the winner.  As a rule the race-meetings are better attended; every bush township has its meetings throughout the continent, and, in remote districts, there are men who entirely “live on the game.”  That is to say, they travel from place to place with a mob of pack-horses, amongst which, more or less disguised by their packs, are some fast ones, with which they surprise the community.  These men, though great scoundrels, are considered to be earning a legitimate living, since no man need gamble with them unless he likes; if he is taken in by them he has himself to thank.

Christmas Eve is celebrated by a performance known as “tin-kettling,” in which all join.  Each arms himself with a dish, or empty tin, which he beats violently with a stick.  To the tune of this lovely music the party marches from house to house, and at each demands drink of some kind, which is always forthcoming.  Thus the old institution of Christmas-waits is supported, even in this far corner of the world.

CHAPTER XVII

ABORIGINALS AT HALL’S CREEK

It may not at first be very clear what the gaol and police force are used for, since the white population numbers so few.  However, the aboriginals are pretty numerous throughout Kimberley, and are a constant source of vexation and annoyance to the squatters, whose cattle are frequently killed and driven wild by native depredators.  A squatter, far from being allowed to take the law into his own hands, even when he catches the blacks in the act of slaying his cattle—­not only for food but as often as not for mere devilment—­has to ride into Hall’s Creek and report to the