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"As aw walk the street," he used to say, "the fouk disna stawp me to buy claes nor shoon, an' wheerfore should they stawp me to buy horrses? It's 'Mister M'Gregor, will ye purrchase a horrse? Let them wait till I ask them to come wi' their horrses."
I've rode that horse a thousand miles. I wouldn't sell him, only I'm a bit hard up. Sellin' him now to get the money to go home." "Hoo auld is he?" "Seven." "Is he a guid horrse on a camp?" asked M'Gregor. "No better camp-horse in Queensland," said the drover. "You can chuck the reins on his neck, an' he'll cut out a beast by himself." M'Gregor's action in this matter puzzled us.
The man was monosyllabic to a degree, as the real bushmen generally are. It is only the rowdy and the town-bushy that are fluent of speech. "Guid mornin'," said M'Gregor. "Mornin', boss," said the drover, shortly. "Is this the horrse ye hae for sale?" "Yes."
Ye ken neither horrse nor cattle. Mony's the time ye never rode buckjumpers, Mr. Billy" and with this parting-shot the old man turned into the house, and White-when-he's-wanted came back to the head station. For a while he was a sort of pariah. He used to yard the horses, fetch up the cows, and hunt travelling sheep through the run.
But you can't put one overr on me any morre'n you can on President Wilson and if you'rre forr making treaties you got to get down off your high horrse see? You ain't got a superiorrity of numbers now! You got nothing but fourr fists, same as we got. Forr two cents, I'd wash yourr face on those rocks! Treaties! I come from Corrnville Centre, I do, and " Tom laughed outright.
"Naw," said the boss, "not the new horrse that bay horrse we bought frae the drover. The ane he said was white when he's wanted." And so, by degrees, the animal came to be referred to as the horse that's white when he's wanted, and at last settled down to the definite name of "White-when-he's-wanted". White-when-he's-wanted didn't seem much of an acquisition.
The Lieutenant'll remimber 'tis the horrse that had a bit of a spavin. Sure I thot 'twas cured, and 'tis the kindest baste in the rigiment f'r a pleasure ride, sorr that willin' 'tis. So I tuk it. I think 'tis only the stiffness at furrst aff. 'Twill wurruk aff later. Plaze God, I'll wallop him." And the Sergeant walloped with a will.
M'Gregor had been through the experience, and there was a slight change in his voice as he went on with his palaver. "Whaur are ye makin' for the noo?" "Monaro my people live in Monaro." "Hoo will ye get to Monaro gin ye sell the horrse?" "Coach and rail. Too sick to care about ridin'," said the drover, while a wan smile flitted over his yellow-grey features. "I've rode him far enough.
The Lieutenant'll remimber 'tis the horrse that had a bit of a spavin, Sure I thot 'twas cured, and 'tis the kindest baste in the rigiment f'r a pleasure ride, sorr that willin' 'tis. So I tuk it. I think 'tis only the stiffness at furrst aff. 'Twill wurruk aff later. Plaze God, I'll wallop him." And the Sergeant walloped with a will.
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