Joe Wilson and His Mates [67]
his legs with his tail, and trotted home after him,
smiling his broadest, longest, and reddest smile of amiability,
and apparently satisfied for one afternoon with the fun he'd had.
Andy chained the dog up securely, and cooked some more chops,
while Dave went to help Jim out of the hole.
And most of this is why, for years afterwards, lanky, easy-going Bushmen,
riding lazily past Dave's camp, would cry, in a lazy drawl
and with just a hint of the nasal twang --
`'El-lo, Da-a-ve! How's the fishin' getting on, Da-a-ve?'
Poisonous Jimmy Gets Left.
I. Dave Regan's Yarn.
`When we got tired of digging about Mudgee-Budgee, and getting no gold,'
said Dave Regan, Bushman, `me and my mate, Jim Bently,
decided to take a turn at droving; so we went with Bob Baker, the drover,
overland with a big mob of cattle, way up into Northern Queensland.
`We couldn't get a job on the home track, and we spent most of our money,
like a pair of fools, at a pub. at a town way up over the border, where they
had a flash barmaid from Brisbane. We sold our pack-horses and pack-saddles,
and rode out of that town with our swags on our riding-horses in front of us.
We had another spree at another place, and by the time we got
near New South Wales we were pretty well stumped.
`Just the other side of Mulgatown, near the border, we came on
a big mob of cattle in a paddock, and a party of drovers camped on the creek.
They had brought the cattle down from the north and were going no farther
with them; their boss had ridden on into Mulgatown to get the cheques
to pay them off, and they were waiting for him.
`"And Poisonous Jimmy is waiting for us," said one of them.
`Poisonous Jimmy kept a shanty a piece along the road from their camp
towards Mulgatown. He was called "Poisonous Jimmy" perhaps
on account of his liquor, or perhaps because he had a job of poisoning dingoes
on a station in the Bogan scrubs at one time. He was a sharp publican.
He had a girl, and they said that whenever a shearing-shed cut-out on his side
and he saw the shearers coming along the road, he'd say to the girl,
"Run and get your best frock on, Mary! Here's the shearers comin'."
And if a chequeman wouldn't drink he'd try to get him into his bar
and shout for him till he was too drunk to keep his hands out of his pockets.
`"But he won't get us," said another of the drovers. "I'm going to ride
straight into Mulgatown and send my money home by the post
as soon as I get it."
`"You've always said that, Jack," said the first drover.
`We yarned a while, and had some tea, and then me and Jim
got on our horses and rode on. We were burned to bricks
and ragged and dusty and parched up enough, and so were our horses.
We only had a few shillings to carry us four or five hundred miles home,
but it was mighty hot and dusty, and we felt that we must have a drink
at the shanty. This was west of the sixpenny-line at that time --
all drinks were a shilling along here.
`Just before we reached the shanty I got an idea.
`"We'll plant our swags in the scrub," I said to Jim.
`"What for?" said Jim.
`"Never mind -- you'll see," I said.
`So we unstrapped our swags and hid them in the mulga scrub
by the side of the road; then we rode on to the shanty, got down,
and hung our horses to the verandah posts.
`"Poisonous" came out at once, with a smile on him that would have made
anybody home-sick.
`He was a short nuggety man, and could use his hands, they said;
he looked as if he'd be a nasty, vicious, cool customer in a fight --
he wasn't the sort of man you'd care to try and swindle a second time.
He had a monkey shave when he shaved, but now it was all frill and stubble --
like a bush fence round a stubble-field. He had a broken nose,
and a cunning, sharp, suspicious eye that squinted, and a cold stony eye
that seemed fixed. If you didn't know him well you might talk to him
for five minutes, looking at him in the cold stony eye, and then discover
that it was the sharp cunning little eye that
smiling his broadest, longest, and reddest smile of amiability,
and apparently satisfied for one afternoon with the fun he'd had.
Andy chained the dog up securely, and cooked some more chops,
while Dave went to help Jim out of the hole.
And most of this is why, for years afterwards, lanky, easy-going Bushmen,
riding lazily past Dave's camp, would cry, in a lazy drawl
and with just a hint of the nasal twang --
`'El-lo, Da-a-ve! How's the fishin' getting on, Da-a-ve?'
Poisonous Jimmy Gets Left.
I. Dave Regan's Yarn.
`When we got tired of digging about Mudgee-Budgee, and getting no gold,'
said Dave Regan, Bushman, `me and my mate, Jim Bently,
decided to take a turn at droving; so we went with Bob Baker, the drover,
overland with a big mob of cattle, way up into Northern Queensland.
`We couldn't get a job on the home track, and we spent most of our money,
like a pair of fools, at a pub. at a town way up over the border, where they
had a flash barmaid from Brisbane. We sold our pack-horses and pack-saddles,
and rode out of that town with our swags on our riding-horses in front of us.
We had another spree at another place, and by the time we got
near New South Wales we were pretty well stumped.
`Just the other side of Mulgatown, near the border, we came on
a big mob of cattle in a paddock, and a party of drovers camped on the creek.
They had brought the cattle down from the north and were going no farther
with them; their boss had ridden on into Mulgatown to get the cheques
to pay them off, and they were waiting for him.
`"And Poisonous Jimmy is waiting for us," said one of them.
`Poisonous Jimmy kept a shanty a piece along the road from their camp
towards Mulgatown. He was called "Poisonous Jimmy" perhaps
on account of his liquor, or perhaps because he had a job of poisoning dingoes
on a station in the Bogan scrubs at one time. He was a sharp publican.
He had a girl, and they said that whenever a shearing-shed cut-out on his side
and he saw the shearers coming along the road, he'd say to the girl,
"Run and get your best frock on, Mary! Here's the shearers comin'."
And if a chequeman wouldn't drink he'd try to get him into his bar
and shout for him till he was too drunk to keep his hands out of his pockets.
`"But he won't get us," said another of the drovers. "I'm going to ride
straight into Mulgatown and send my money home by the post
as soon as I get it."
`"You've always said that, Jack," said the first drover.
`We yarned a while, and had some tea, and then me and Jim
got on our horses and rode on. We were burned to bricks
and ragged and dusty and parched up enough, and so were our horses.
We only had a few shillings to carry us four or five hundred miles home,
but it was mighty hot and dusty, and we felt that we must have a drink
at the shanty. This was west of the sixpenny-line at that time --
all drinks were a shilling along here.
`Just before we reached the shanty I got an idea.
`"We'll plant our swags in the scrub," I said to Jim.
`"What for?" said Jim.
`"Never mind -- you'll see," I said.
`So we unstrapped our swags and hid them in the mulga scrub
by the side of the road; then we rode on to the shanty, got down,
and hung our horses to the verandah posts.
`"Poisonous" came out at once, with a smile on him that would have made
anybody home-sick.
`He was a short nuggety man, and could use his hands, they said;
he looked as if he'd be a nasty, vicious, cool customer in a fight --
he wasn't the sort of man you'd care to try and swindle a second time.
He had a monkey shave when he shaved, but now it was all frill and stubble --
like a bush fence round a stubble-field. He had a broken nose,
and a cunning, sharp, suspicious eye that squinted, and a cold stony eye
that seemed fixed. If you didn't know him well you might talk to him
for five minutes, looking at him in the cold stony eye, and then discover
that it was the sharp cunning little eye that