Such Is Life (40 page)

“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 grass 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. Aren'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 blath-erin' 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 basso profundo:

“Evenin', chaps.”

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

“Same old 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.”

“Wouldn't mind if I was dead, Collins.”

“Where's Bat?” I asked.

“Gone to a better billet”—and the leonine voice deepened to hoarseness. “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 old 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 grass 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, rasslin' 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 of 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 didn't want to engage any o' your sort, knowin' you'd loaf on the grass, 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 paddick 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 near-siders, 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' paddick, 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 Chinks laid him on to this bit o' grass. 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' Chinks! My word!”

“Bin many people workin' on this paddick 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 under-standin' 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! Hope I'll live to see him with a bluey on his back.”

“Well-matched pair—M'Gregor an' Smythe,” remarked Donovan thoughtfully. “Wonder which of the two (individuals) is worst in the sight o' God?”

“Toss-up,” replied Bob. “Same time, there's a lot o' difference in people, accordin' to the shape o' their head. There's Stewart of Kooltopa; he don't demean his self with little things; he goes in for big things, an' gits there; an' he's got the heart to make a proper use o' what money travels his road. Comes-out a Christian. Then there's Smythe: his mind's so much took-up with the tup-penny-thruppenny things that he can't see the big thing when it's starin' him in the face. Can't afford to come-out anything but a pis-ant. Then there's M'Gregor: he goes-in for big things an' little things, an' he goes-in to win, an' he wins; an' all he wins is Donal' M'Gregor's. Comes-out a bow constructor.”

“Do you think he'll shift Smythe from Mondunbarra, as he did Pratt from Boolka?” I asked.

“Ain't he doin' it all the time?” replied Bob. “He's got Smythe frightened of him now, an' beginnin' to hate him like fury, besides. That's M'Gregor's lay. By-'n'-by, Smythe'll be dreamin' about him all night, an' wishin' he was game to poison him all day; an' when he feels enough haunted, M'Gregor'll make him an offer, an' he'll sell-out like a bird.”

“I should be inclined to reverse the situation,” remarked Stevenson. “I should make him glad to sell-out to me.”

“My word, you'd do a lot,” replied Bob. “I seen smarter men nor you took-down through tryin' to work points on the same ole M'Gregor. Tell you what I seen on Wo-Winya, about three year ago—jist before me an' pore Bat was put on the Diamantinar. Feller name o' Tregarvis, from Bendigo, he selected a lot o' land on Wo-Winya, an' made-up his mind he'd straighten M'Gregor. Bit of a Berryite, he was. Well-off for a selector, too; an' he done a big business back an' forrid to Vic with cattle. Mixed lots, of course, with stags an' ole cows that no fence would hold. North of Ireland feller, name o' Moore, was managin' Wo-Winya at the time; an' M'Gregor was a good deal about the station, takin' a sort o' interest in this Tregarvis. Well, things was so arranged that the Cousin Jack's cattle was always gittin' into our paddicks; an' the rule was that his people had to come to the home-station to get leaf to hunt ‘em; an' a man was sent along o' them as a percaution. An' generally, by the time they foun' the cattle, there was one or two o' the fattest o' them short.”

“Remedy for that game,” remarked Stevenson. “I should have laid a trap.”

“Jist what Tregarvis done,” rejoined Bob. “One day there was a stranger among our cattle—a fine big white bullock, an' Tregarvis's brand on him. We run this mob into the yard before dinner, to git a beast to kill, an' turned 'em all out agen, bar the white one; but he was in the killin'-yard all the afternoon. Dusk in the evenin', the white bullock was shot; an' jist in the nick o' time, when the head was slung in the pig-sty, an' the hide was hangin' on the fence, raw side up, who should pounce on us but ole Tregarvis, an' young Tregarvis, an' a trooper. No mistake, Moore looked a bit gallied on it; an' he hum'd an' ha'd, an' threatened to brain Tregarvis if he laid a hand on the hide. Anyhow, the trooper took charge o' the hide; an' both the Tregarvises struck matches an' examined the head in the pig-sty. Next mornin', a warrant was
served on Moore; but, of course, he was bailed. Then the Court-day come on; an' Tregarvis swore to a knowledge that a white bullock of his was among the Wo-Winya cattle; an' he give evidence about the findin' o' the skin, an' swore to the head he seen in the pig-sty. An' young Tregarvis, he swore he was watchin' with a telescope, an' seen a white bullock o' theirs yarded with some more, an' all the rest turned-out; an' he kep' his eye on that white bullock all the afternoon; an' he heard the shot, an' went up with his ole man an' the trooper; an' he seen the raw hide hangin' on the fence, an' the head in the pig-sty, an' a couple o' fellers hoistin' the carkidge on the gallus. When the magistrate asked Moore if he wanted to make a statement, he said he was quite bewildered about it. He allowed he had picked the white bullock for killin', an' he had give the order; but he'd swear the beast belonged to the station. So the hide was spread out on a bit o' tarpolin in the floor o' the Court; an' there was on'y one brand on it, an' that brand was M'Gregor's—D M G off-rump. Mind you, this is on'y what I was told. My orders was to keep clear till the case was over; an' it was on'y a day or two follerin' that me an' pore Bat got our orders for the Diamantinar. Anyhow, Moore whanged it on to Tregarvis for malicious prosecution; an' it cost the Cousin Jack a good many hundred before he was done with it. As for young Dick Tregarvis, he got four years for perjury; so they'll be jist about lettin' him out now, if he's got the good-conduct remission.”

“Beast changed?” suggested Thompson.

“Yes. That was the idear. Some different dodge next time. Changed jist at dusk, an' shot the minit after. I had the station bullock all ready, before ever Tregarvis's one was yarded. Dead spit o' one another, down to the shape o' their horns—bar the brands, of course; Tregarvis's beast havin' N T near-shoulder, an' J H conjoined under half-circle off-ribs. I had him half-ways back to the paddick agen when Tregarvis thought he was identifyin' him in the killin'-yard. So he fell-in, simple enough. An' between one thing an' another, an' bein' follered-up like the last dingo on a sheep station, ole Tregarvis was glad to sell-out to M'Gregor, before all was over. Yes, Stevenson; Lord've mercy on M'Gregor if you got a holt of him! My word!”

“Where the (adj. sheol) do you reckon on bein' shoved into when you croak, Bob?” asked Donovan, with a touch of human solicitude.