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To their thinking, he was a proud, stuck-up, unsocial young cub, whom to rob was a pleasure, and to ruin would be a delight. The old man at Boolabong was now almost obsolete. Property, that he could keep in his grasp, there was in truth none. He was the tenant of the run under the Crown, and his sons would not turn him out of the house. The cattle, when there were cattle, belonged to them.
On this occasion it was odious to Harry Heathcote, not so much on account of its own intrinsic abominations, as because it might cause a fire to sweep across his run from its western boundary. Just beyond the boundary there lay Boolabong, and there were collected his enemies.
"It is not Christmas like at home at all; is it, Mr. 'Eathcote? Dear, no! Them red divils is there ready to give us a Christmas roasting." Then he told how he had boldly ridden up to Boolabong that morning, and had seen Georgie and Boscobel with his own eyes.
In a few minutes Jacko was standing by the young squatter's bedside, and Harry Heathcote, quite awake, was sitting up and listening. "George Brownbie's at Boolabong." That at first was the gravamen of Jacko's news. "I know that already, Jacko." "My word!" exclaimed Jacko.
But if the miscreant were in truth at Boolabong, and if evil things were being plotted against Gangoil, Georgie would certainly be among the conspirators. Soon after noon Harry was on horseback and Jacko was at his heels. The heat was more intense than ever. Mrs. Heathcote had twisted round Harry's hat a long white scarf, called a puggeree, though we are by no means sure of our spelling.
"Bill Nokes was here, whom Heathcote dismissed ever so long ago, and that Chinese cook of his. He dismissed him too, I suppose. And he dismissed Boscobel here." "No one can live at Gangoil any time," said Jack. "Every body knows that. He wants to be lord a'mighty over every thing. But he ain't going to be lord a'mighty at Boolabong." "And he ain't going to burn our grass either," said Joe.
Then the sons within had interfered from their beds, swearing that their father was the noisiest old "cuss" unhung, they having had their necessary slumbers disturbed. At this moment the debate was interrupted by the appearance of a man outside the veranda. "Well, Mr. Jerry, how goes it?" asked the stranger. "What, Bos, is that you? What brings you up to Boolabong?
I don't think you need fear fire from the Boolabong side again this summer." After this the sergeant and his man discreetly allowed themselves to be put to bed in the back cottage; for in truth, when they arrived, things had come to such a pass at Gangoil that the two additional visitors were hardly welcome. But hospitality in the bush can be stayed by no such considerations as that.
"You big fool, Bos," he said more than once to his friend the woodsman, who had lured him away from the comforts of Gangoil. "I'll punch your head, John, if you don't hold your row," Boscobel would reply. But Sing Sing went on with his reproaches, and, before they had reached Boolabong, Boscobel had punched the Chinaman's head.
"The old man wouldn't say any thing of that kind, Jacko." "The old man! He knows nothing about it. My word! they don't tell him about nothing." "Or Tom?" "Tom's away in prison. They always cotches the best when they want to send 'em to prison. If they'd lock up Jerry and Georgie and Jack! My word! yes." "You think they're arranging it all at Boolabong?" "In course they are."