Part 35 (1/2)

”Do you mean, a short-horned Durham bull with a key brand? Why, if that's him, I can lay you on to him at once; he's up at Jamieson's, here to the west. I was staying at Watson's last night, and one of Jamieson's men staid in the hut--a young hand; and, talking about beasts, he said that there was a fine short-horned bull come on to their run with a mob of heifers and cows, and they couldn't make out who they belonged to; they were all different brands.”

”That's our lot for a thousand,” says I; ”a lot of store cattle we bought this year from the Hunter, and haven't branded yet,--more shame to us.”

”If you could get a horse and saddle from Jamieson's, sir,” said he, ”I could give you a hand home with them: I'd like to get a job somehow, and I'm well used to cattle.”

”Done with you,” said I; ”Jamieson's isn't ten miles from here, and we can do that to-night if we look sharp. Come along, my lad.”

So I caught up the horse, and away we went. Starting at right angles with the sun, which was nearly overhead, and keeping to the left of him holding such a course, as he got lower, that an hour and half, or thereabouts, before setting he should be in my face, and at sundown a little to the left;--the best direction I can give you for going about due west in November, without a compa.s.s--which, by the way, you always ought to have.

My companion was foot-sore, so I went slowly; he, however, shambled along bravely when his feet got warm. He was a talkative, lively man, and chattered continually.

”You've got a nice place up at the Durnongs, sir,” said he; ”I stayed in your huts one night. It's the comfortablest bachelor station on this side. You've got a smart few sheep, I expect?”

”Twenty-five thousand. Do you know these parts well?”

”I knew that country of yours long before any of it was took up.”

”You've been a long while in the country, then?”

”I was sent out when I was eighteen; spared, as the old judge said, on account of my youth: that's eleven years ago.”

”Spared, eh? It was something serious, then?”

”Trifling enough: only for having a rope in my hand.”

”They wouldn't lag a man for that,” said I.

”Ay, but,” he replied, ”there was a horse at the end of the rope. I was brought up in a training stable, and somehow there's something in the smell of a stable is sure to send a man wrong if he don't take care. I got betting and drinking, too, as young chaps will, and lost my place, and got from bad to worse till I shook a nag, and got bowled out and lagged. That's about my history, sir; will you give me a job, now?” and he looked up, laughing.

”Ay, why not?” said I. ”Because you tried hard to go to the devil when you were young and foolish, it don't follow that you should pursue that line of conduct all your life. You've been in a training stable, eh? If you can break horses, I may find you something to do.”

”I'll break horses against any man in this country--though that's not saying much, for I ain't seen not what I call a breaker since I've been here; as for riding, I'd ridden seven great winners before I was eighteen; and that's what ne'er a man alive can say. Ah, those were the rosy times! Ah for old Newmarket!”

”Are you a Cambridges.h.i.+re man, then?”

”Me? Oh, no; I'm a Devons.h.i.+re man. I come near from where Major Buckley lived some years. Did you notice a pale, pretty-looking woman, was with him--Mrs. Hawker?”

I grew all attention. ”Yes,” I said, ”I noticed her.”

”I knew her husband well,” he said, ”and an awful rascal he was: he was lagged for coining, though he might have been for half-a-dozen things besides.”

”Indeed!” said I; ”and is he in the colony?”

”No; he's over the water, I expect.”

”In Van Diemen's Land, you mean?”

”Just so,” he said; ”he had better not show Bill Lee much of his face, or there'll be mischief.”

”Lee owes him a grudge, then?”