Présentation de l'éditeur
Chapter I. THE XEWCHUM. I TXDER a sky of skim-milk blue the grey wilderness of stony rises stretched on every side. The grass-; bleached by drought, was white and dead. The trees, with their dull-green leaves and ashen trunks, gave nd relief to the eye in the dreary expanse. And over everything silence: the stealthy silence of the Bush, that seems ever to be waiting, and listening. A horseman appeared on one of the rises and paused there awliile, looming gigantic against the slcyline. For all.there was of sound or motion, he and his horse might have been the only living things in that I liealyptian waste. 0C arroll was looking around with haggard eyes. Me had spent his first day in the Bush trying to get away from tho.se relentless rises, and still they mocked at him as like to his tired gaze as waves of ocean. Tortured with thirst, he was battling with the parah sing self-distrust that grips when sense of direction is gone. His horse, a splendid blood bay with black mane and tail, pawed the ground and shook his head now and then like a human being in doubt and pain. I mpatient, he turned and brushed his riders Iol with his nozzle.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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