But,
when Jack married, Big Ben Duggan went back again, up into Queensland
and the Great North-West, with a makeshift mate who had also lost his
mate through marriage. Ever and again, after one, and two, and three
years--the periods of absence lengthening as the years went on--Big
Ben Duggan would come back home, and stay a while (till the Great
North-West began to call insistently) at Denver's, where he would be
welcomed jubilantly by all--even the baby who had never seen him--for
there was "something about the man." And, until late on the night
of his return, he and Jack would sit by the fire in winter, or outside
on the woodheap in summer, and yarn long and fondly about the Wide
Places, and strange things they knew and understood.
How sudden things are! Ben was back (just in time for the holidays
and the Mudgee races) out of the level lands, where distance dwells in
her halls of shimmering haze, after following her for five years.
They were riding home from the races, the women and children in carts
and buggies, the men and boys on horseback--of course. They raced
each other along the road, across short cuts, through scrub and
timber, and back to the slow-coming overloaded vehicles again, some
riding wildly and recklessly. Jack Denver was amongst them, his heart
warmed with good luck at the races, good whisky to wet it, and the
return of his old mate. "We're as good as the best of the young 'uns
yet, Ben!" he cried, as they swung through the trees.
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