Such Is Life Part 42

My own experience of the morning led me to endorse this judgment; wherefore, if John didn't exactly rise in the estimation of the camp, he certainly reduced his soundings in its destestation.

"Comin' down with wool?" asked Baxter.

"Comin' down without wool, or wagon, or any (adj.) thing," replied Cartwright.

"Jist loafin' loose. Bullocks dead-beat. Left the wagon tarpolined at the Jumpin' Sandhill, a fortnit ago. Five gone out o' eighteen since then, an' three more dead if they on'y know'd it. Good for trade, I s'pose."

"Had any supper?" asked Thompson.

"Well, no. Run out o' tucker to-day, an' reckoned I'd do till I foun' time to go to Booligal to-morrow."

While three or four of the fellows placed their eatables before Cartwright, Thompson remarked:

"You gave me a bit of a start. When I saw you coming, it reminded me of one time I got snapped by Barefooted Bob, on Wo-Winya, while M'Gregor owned the station. For all the world such a night as this-smoky moonlight, and as good as day. I'd had a fearful perisher coming down with the last wool, and I was making for the Murray, by myself; stealing a bite of gra.s.s every night, and getting caught, altogether, five times between Hay and Barmah.

Well, I knew there was rough feed in the Tin Hut Paddock; so I crawled along quietly, and loosed-out after dark, in that timber where the coolaman hole is.

Then I sneaked the bullocks through the fence, and out past that bit of a swamp; and they had just settled down to feed, when I saw some one riding toward me.

"'I've got possession of some bullocks close handy here,' says he 'Do you own them?'

"'Yes,' says I; 'and, by the same token, I have possession.'

"'Right you are,' says he. 'Court job, if you like. Your name's Stephen Thompson. Good night.'

"'Hold-on!' says I. 'On second thoughts, I haven't possession.

But I think I know your voice. Are n't you Barefooted Bob? Where's Bat?'

"'Laying for Potter's horse-teams to-night,' says Bob. 'He'll get them, right enough.'

"'Come over to the wagon, and have a drink of tea,' says I.

"'No, no,' says he; 'none of your toe-rag business. I'll just stop with these bullocks till it's light enough to count them out of the paddock.'

"So we stayed there yarning all night, and in the morning we settled-up, and he saw me out of the paddock. Nicest, civilest fellow you'd meet; but no more conscience than that kangaroo-dog of Tom's. He and Bat had been four or five years away north toward the Gulf, and had just come down.

M'Gregor used to keep them up to their work. Sent them away somewhere about the Diamantina, shortly after this affair; and now Bob"----

"Speak o' the divil," growled Baxter. "You done it, you blatherin' fool!

Look behine you! Now there's a bob a-head, or a summons, for every (individual) of us. Might 'a' had more sense!"

Thompson (as you will remember) had heard of Bob's decease, but had since learned the fallacy of the report. I was therefore, probably, the only person present who took for granted that M'Gregor's obnoxious familiar was so removed from further opportunity of mischief as to leave him a safe subject of conversation among people situated as we were. Hence the well-concealed disquietude of the company was nothing in comparison with my own perplexity-- which, I trust, was no less successfully disguised. For it was Bob himself who had just ridden round a contiguous cape of lignum, and now, dismounting and throwing his reins on the ground, joined our unappreciative group.

After folding his interminable legs in two places, and clasping his hands round his shins, this excrescence on society remarked, in ba.s.so profundo:

"Evenin', chaps."

"Evenin'," came in sullen, but general, response. Then Baxter queried indifferently:

"Same ole lay?"

"Not me," replied the deep, low voice. "Every man to his work. My work's mullockin' in a reservoy, with a new-chum weaver from Leeds for a mate, an' a scoop that's nyther make nor form, an' the ten worst bullocks ever was yoked."

"Well, Bob," said I; "though you gave me a fright, I must congratulate you.

I heard you were dead."

"Would n't mind if I was dead, Collins."

"Where's Bat?" I asked.

"Gone to a better billet"--and the leonine voice deepened to hoa.r.s.eness.

"Restin' in the shadder of a lonely rock, as the Bible says. I buried him by my own self, way out back, eight or ten months ago. Many's the time I wish I was with him, for I'm dog-tired of everything goin'.

Best-hearted feller ever broke bread, Bat was; an' the prittiest rider ever I seen on a horse. Yes; pore ole chap's gone. You'd 'a' thought he was on'y asleep when "----

No further word was spoken for a couple of minutes. Then Stevenson asked:

"How long since you came down?"

"Five months since I left the Diamantinar. Grand gra.s.s there, an' most o' the road down. I come with some fats as fur as Wilcannia; an' a drover took charge o' them there; an' my orders was to come on to Mondunbarra.

I been here goin' on for three weeks, ra.s.slin' with that reservoy, an' cursin' M'Gregor an' Smythe for bein' man-eaters, an' myself for bein'

a born fool."

"Then why don't you leave?" asked Thompson.

"How can I leave without a settlin'-up?"

"An' why the (sheol) don't you git a settlin'-up?" asked Donovan.

"How'm I goin' to git a settlin'-up, when M'Gregor don't know me from a crow, an' says Smythe'll represent him in the meantime; an' Smythe says his hands is tied on account o' M'Gregor, or else he'd dem soon give me the run.

Nice way for a man to be fixed, after me breakin' my neck since I was fifteen, to make M'Gregor what he is. Eighteen solid years clean throwed away!"

"How did you fine us here, unless you was (adv.) well after somebody?"

asked Baxter, still suspicious of the dog with a bad name.

"Well, I am after somebody. I'm after ole M'Gregor--at least, I'll be after him as soon 's I git this reservoy off o' my mind. Daresay I'll git you to understand by-'n'-by. See: Jist when Smythe wanted this job fixed-up, he got a slant o' fourteen bullocks, sold at a gift, for debt; an' he thought that would be the cheapest way to git the work done; for he did n't want to engage any o' your sort, knowin' you'd loaf on the gra.s.s, an' most likely make a song about it, an' be the instigation of no end o' trouble watchin'

the place. Well, them fourteen was put in Sling Ho's padd.i.c.k for a fortnit before I come; an' I could on'y muster ten; an' me an' this mate o' mine we made a start with that lot--not knowin' which was nearsiders, nor off-siders, nor leaders, nor nothing. Nice contract. Anyway, jist before dark this evenin', I seen two o' the missin' ones in the 'joinin' paddock, so I rooted-up one o' my horses, an' fetched them in here.

Then I heard a dog barkin' out this way, an' I thought I'd come across to kill time, an' then I happened to hear a lot o' laughin'

where them other blokes is camped"----

"Which other blokes?" asked Saunders.

"Dan Lister an' three Vic. chaps. Be about half-a-mile out there.

Dan's as sulky as a pig with these coves for foxin' him; an' they're laughin'

at him like three overgrown kids. They got twelve bullocks each.

Dan tells me he dropped two out of his eighteen, comin' down from Mooltunya.

Says one o' the c.h.i.n.ks laid him on to this bit o' gra.s.s. Two other fellers I met in the plain-strangers to me--they had the very same yarn.

Them heathens think I'm in charge here; an' they're workin' a point to make me nasty with the chaps on the track. An' if I was in charge, that's jist the sort o' thing would put a hump on me. Sort o' off-sider for a gang o' c.h.i.n.ks! My word!"

"Bin many people workin' on this padd.i.c.k lately?" asked Saunders innocently.

"Well, besides your three horses, there's been an odd team now an' agen for the fortnit or three weeks I been here. Good many last night.

Rallyin'-up to-night. No business o' mine. Too busy shiftin' mullock to know what's goin' on. Way o' the world, I s'pose. Anyway, Smythe's gittin' a slant to come to an understandin' with M'Gregor about me; an' if it ain't satisfactory, there'll be bad feelin' between us.

I want to be kep' at my own proper work, or else sacked an' squared-up with-- not shoved into a job like this the minit I show my face; with that young pup cheekin' me for callin' him 'Bert.' 'Mr. Smythe, if you please,' says he!