The Remittance Man by Ambrose Pratt — Read

The cane cutters were coming to Ballina. Two hours before dawn the first of them arrived, a brawny giant, the skin of whose face and hands was tanned by the sun to a rich copper hue. He tramped on foot beside a pack-horse, which poor, patient brute was loaded from tail to forelock with a miscellaneous burden of household goods. Indeed, the cutter's tent pole extended beyond the beast's head and tail alike. It was wrapped about with a cloud of dirty white or yellow canvas, from whose corners several stray rope ends draggled on the road. About it, and over the region of the horse's withers, towered two sacks of chaff fixed pannier wise, superimposed with a roll of blankets, an axe, and a heavy bag of flour. A gridiron and half a dozen pots and pans dangled from the beast's mane, to which they were securely fastened.

These made strange music with every step the horse took, music that a Chinaman might have taken delight in. The cane cutter did not like it particularly, but he did not care to stop a clatter which had been his only company, through the dark for nearly 20 miles. The lights of Ballina gleamed with a joyous welcome as he passed the "Folly's" gate. He was glad to have reached his journey's end, and taking his pipe from his mouth, he swore good-humoredly at his horse in order to express his satisfaction. Half a mile further on he struck aside from the road and entered the waste common land, a low-lying level plain extending from the Major's house to the township. It had been used from time immemorial for the depasturing of the common stock; for any other purpose it was valueless, since the least rise in the river converted it into a sea of muddy water.