Grey-green forest surrounded them, out of which nobbly hills rose like islands from a sea of trees.

As they approached the end of their journey, they overtook a large number of heavy vehicles labouring along through the mire.

A coach with six horses dashed past them at full gallop, and left them rapidly behind.

Did they have to skirt bull-punchers who were lashing or otherwise ill-treating their teams, Mahony urged on the horse and bade Polly shut her eyes.
Night had fallen and a drizzling rain get in, by the time they travelled the last couple of miles to Ballarat.

This was the worst of all; and Polly held her breath while the horse picked its way among yawning pits, into which one false step would have plunged them.