Chapter IX
In the deep gully six miles from the homestead Randal and Moggers were stumping. It was three years since Randal had helped there at the felling of slim birch and great totara and matai, and afterwards put a firestick through the raffle of broken tree-ferns and earth-laid branches. A few dead writhed spars lay over the gully-sides yet, although the most had been drawn for the fencing; and all along the bottom, stumps raised their venomous heads in derision for the men who wrought with them.
Mogger had worked on a dredge once. He came out of the six-foot hole round a birch-root and made comparisons.
“...which it carried the old complicated ’and machinery, too. But it was a fool ter this bloomin’ kind o’ organ’sm. An’ sech a waste of a hole, when as the brute is out,” he added, spitting into it thoughtfully, “Cud bury lots o’ folk in there. Yer cud so.”
“Two grandads and a granny?” suggested Randal, changing his hands on the axe-shaft, and descending with a slide into the pit again.
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