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Magomery, the proper road for me would 'a' been back along the main track to the Cane-grass Swamp, an' from there along the reg'lar Nalrookar track; but I was frightened o' the Convincer, so I thought I'd just cut across" "Great God! You thought you'd just cut across! Do you own this run? "Well, no, Mr. But if I'd 'a' thought you'd any objection, I'd 'a' ast leaf."
I would n't do it to you, Mr. Magomery." I had ridden to the side of the buggy. "Mr. Montgomery," said I; "I wish to heaven that you were under one-tenth of the obligation to me that I am under to you, so that I might venture to speak in this case. But the remembrance of so much consideration at your hands m the past, encourages me.
"A loafer! no better! an' you must shove in your lip! I don't blame Magomery for bein' nasty; he's got a right to blaggard me, the way things is; an' I give him credit. But you! Cr-r-ripes! if I had you a couple o' hundred mile furder back, I'd learn you manners! I'd make you spring off o' your tail!"
Priestley had never been taught to order himself lowly and reverently to all his betters; yet there was deeper pathos in the rude dignity of his reply than could have attended servility. "It s this way, Mr. Magomery I don't deny I got here in a sneakin' way. I feel it, Mr. Still, I'm here now.
Well, wot war the hupshot? W'y, Warrigal Half war hunloadin' hat Boottara; an' a yaller bullick 'e 'd got, Pilot by name" "Yes," I gently interposed. "Well, I'll have to be" "'Is Pilot starts by night f'm Boottara ration-paddick, an' does 'is thirty mile to hour 'oss-paddick; an' the hull menagerie tailin' harter. 'Shove 'em in 'e yaad, Toby, ses Muster Magomery.
"An' Magomery wants a person to make a lady's hack out o' sich an outlawr as him!" he continued, in hopeless protest, whilst the 'outlawr' exerted his iron muscles to the utmost, and the saddle creaked like a basket. "Nummin' good horse, too; on'y spoiled with Jist look at that!"
Well, heverybody Muster Magomery his self, no less heverybody ses, 'Ole hon t' we gits a holt of 'em fellers' mongreals! bin leavin' three o' hour gates hopen; an' the yowes an' weaners is boxed; an' puttin' a file through Nosey Half's 'oss-paddick, an' workin' hon it with 'er steers! 'Stiddy! ses Hi 'w'e's y'r proofs? Way it war, Collings; 'ere come a dose o' rain jis' harter, an' yer could n't track.
"Fact was, Arblaster, I bethought me what a lot o' work I'd done for Magomery, one time or another, an' what good friends me an' him always was; an' I says to myself, 'Well, I'll chance her make a spoon, or spoil a horn. That's the way I reasoned it out.
Presinkly, up comes Half, an 'is 'oss hall of a lather. 'Take yer dem mongreals, ses Muster Magomery; 'an' don' hoversleep y'self agin. Think Half war goin' ter flog 'is hanimals thirty mile back? Not 'im" "It would hardly be right," I agreed. "Well, I must be jogging" "Not 'im," pursued Jack.
Fact was, Moriarty, I met Magomery at Bailey's Tank, an' he told me to go like blazes to Scandalous Sandy's hut, on Nalrooka, an' tell him a lot o' his sheep was boxed with ours in the Boree Paddick. 'I'll fetch the mail home myself, says he. There now." "And why didn't you go to Scandalous Sandy's?" nagged Moriarty.
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