Such Is Life by Tom Collins

since this day week; and his greatest pleasure in life is prowling round when he ought to be asleep.”
    â€œWarrigal Alf laid Mosey on,” I replied. “At least, he said he had stayed here the night before last, and had taken his bullocks out after they lay down.”
    â€œAh! the treacherous beggar! I’ll tell you how that came. Day before yesterday—let’s see—that was Saturday—Montgomery and Martin met Alf just at the station, coming along behind some other teams. Montgomery was sorry in his own mind for a blaggarding he gave Alf last winter, for letting his bullocks get into our horse-paddock. Seems they got adrift from Bottara, while Alf was unloading, and had gone the thirty miles, right across country, with him after them full chase. Alf was too ill-natured to explain things at the time: and he never mentioned it when he loaded our first wool, a month ago. Montgomery heard the truth of it only the other day; so when he met Alf, he stopped him, and mentioned it, and told him to shove his bullocks in Martin’s paddock for that night, as grass was so scarce. It must have cut Martin to the bone to see a kindly thing done, but he had to grin and bear it—treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath, as Shakespear says.”
    â€œThen Martin may be here any minute?”
    â€œWell, I left him a little better than two mile away, trying to track his horse, and he can’t track worth a dash. Certainly, he was headed toward the station the last I saw of him. But if he’s got a spare saddle at home here, he’s pretty certain to come for a fresh horse, to hunt up the other. I’d give five notes, if I had it, to see these (fellows) yoked up and off; for if Martin catches them, there’ll be (sheol) to pay, and no pitch hot; and, by George! there’s not half a second to lose. Just look at that fence! Ah!here they come! Good lads! Well, take care of yourself, Tom, and give us a call at the station as soon as you can. I’ll keep out of sight till these chaps are started; then I’ll have a bit of breakfast with Daddy Montague, and invent a good watertight lie, and do a skulk for an hour or two, and then dodge on to the station as slowly as possible. I want something to go wrong in the store while Montgomery has charge himself; it’ll learn him to appreciate me better. I’ll have to ram it down his throat that the fellows had their bullocks out before I got here.”
    â€œWait, Moriarty—what’s Martin’s horse like? I might see him.”
    â€œLiver-colour; star and snip; white hind feet; bang tail. One of the best mokes on the station. Belongs to Martin himself. I hope he’ll scratch the bridle off, and roll on the saddle till it’s not worth a cuss. I say—if Martin should find his way here before the fellows get clear, will you just tell him I fancied I saw his horse going for the Connelly paddock, and I shot after him hell-for-leather. No message for Mrs. Beaudesart? Well, so long.” And the good and faithful young servant cantered away toward an adjacent cane-grass swamp.
    I was picking up my possum rug and saddle, when I heard Dixon’s voice, in earnest entreaty. Looking round, I saw him sitting on the edge of his hammock.
    â€œSay, Collins—will you fetch my (adj.) bullocks, while yer hand’s in? I can’t har’ly move this mornin’.”
    â€œYes, Dixon; I won’t see you beat, if I can help it. What’s the matter?”
    â€œWell, I was on top o’ my load las’ night, gittin’—gittin’ some tobacker an’ matches; an’ I come a buster on top o’ one o’ the yokes here. It’s put a (adj.) set on me, any road.”
    With a few words of condolence, I entered the paddock, carrying my saddle and bridle. As I came in sight of Cleopatra, I was constrained to pause and reflect. The horse was feeding composedly, saddled and bridled; a pair