I resolved to question him, and get as much
information from him as I could. I did so. As long as I kept to
questions about the nearer ranges, he was easy to get on with--he had
never been there, but there were traditions among his tribe to the effect
that there was no sheep-country, nothing, in fact, but stunted timber and
a few river-bed flats. It was very difficult to reach; still there were
passes: one of them up our own river, though not directly along the river-
bed, the gorge of which was not practicable; he had never seen any one
who had been there: was there to not enough on this side? But when I
came to the main range, his manner changed at once. He became uneasy,
and began to prevaricate and shuffle. In a very few minutes I could see
that of this too there existed traditions in his tribe; but no efforts or
coaxing could get a word from him about them. At last I hinted about
grog, and presently he feigned consent: I gave it him; but as soon as he
had drunk it he began shamming intoxication, and then went to sleep, or
pretended to do so, letting me kick him pretty hard and never budging.
I was angry, for I had to go without my own grog and had got nothing out
of him; so the next day I determined that he should tell me before I gave
him any, or get none at all.
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