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"Because the youngster isn't his," said Mitchell. "How do you know that?" "By the look of it and by the look on her face, once, when she caught me squinting from the kid's face to Bogan's." "And whose was it?" I asked, without thinking. "How am I to know?" said Mitchell. "It might be yours for all I know it's ugly enough, and you never had any taste in women.
Nobody dared to restrain his fury there was a devil in him, they were afraid of the man in his blinded rage The odor of whiskey and gin filled the cold air some of them would have stolen the wasted liquor if they could, but no man there dared to move or speak, and it was not until the tall figure of Father Miles came along the street, and the patient eyes that seemed always to keep vigil, and the calm voice with its flavor of Bantry brogue, came to Mike Bogan's help, that he let himself be taken out of the wrecked shop and away from the spilt liquors to the shelter of his home.
I noticed Bogan's face was bleeding there was a dead limb stuck in the tree with nasty sharp points on it, and I reckoned he'd run his face against one of them. Campbell had the sense to keep still. We asked Bogan if he could hold on, and he said he could, but he couldn't hold Campbell any longer.
Also, he had been in a shearing-shed and in a shanty orgy with One-eyed Bogan, and knew the man. Now most of the chaps respected the Army, and, indeed, anything that looked like religion, but the Bogan's face, as representing free-thought, was a bit too sudden for them.
It irritated him to be messed round too much he said a baby would never learn to walk if it was held all the time. He reckoned he'd learn more in a year than a man who'd served a lifetime to blindness; but we didn't let him wander much for fear he'd fall into the big rocky waterhole there, by accident. "And after the shearing-season Bogan's wife turned up in Bourke " "Bogan's wife!" I exclaimed.
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