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Warrigal and he cleared out at a trot, and went out of sight in a jiffy. It was every man for himself now. We waited a bit to help them with their swag; it was awful heavy. We told them that their pack-horses would never carry it if there was anything of a close run for it. 'Suppose you think you've got the only good horse in the country, Dick Marston, says Daly.
The horses stood limply, as much out of the shade as in, the big swag leaned against the wall, the handcuffs lay half buried in the dust, but Tsing Hi had vanished. "Me sowl to glory! The little divil's scooted! It's a ruined man I am! In the name of the Saints, why is blasted Chinkees made with han's an' 'em like a 'possum? Look at the wee han's on 'em to slip out of darbies like the same.
Well, sir, here we are after a mighty narrow squeak. I feel all limp yet; but never mind his swag will pay for the lot!" "He's all alone here," remarked Mr. Jones in a hollow murmur. "Ye-es, in a way. Yes, alone enough. Yes, you may say he is." "There's that Chinaman, though." "Ay, there's the Chink," assented Ricardo rather absentmindedly.
I've been a fool, I know, but I've paid for it; and now there's nothing for it but to tramp, tramp, tramp for your tucker, and keep tramping till you get old and careless and dirty, and older, and more careless and dirtier, and you get used to the dust and sand, and heat, and flies, and mosquitoes, just as a bullock does, and lose ambition and hope, and get contented with this animal life, like a dog, and till your swag seems part of yourself, and you'd be lost and uneasy and light-shouldered without it, and you don't care a damn if you'll ever get work again, or live like a Christian; and you go on like this till the spirit of a bullock takes the place of the heart of a man.
If you shoot me straight for the swamp I'll be right. I'll spell to-night at the tank, and then have a try for my swag." "You'll find two very decent coves camped at the tank, with the engine and pump. They'll put you on your feet." "Good again." "Which way are you travelling?" I asked. "Any way. Work's scarce; contractors camped for want of water; too late for burr-cutting; nothing doing.
Swish is certainly not a more expressive or descriptive word than marmalade. The one means nothing, while the other has an interesting history coming to us through the French from two old Greek words meaning "apple" and "honey." The expressive word which this writer quotes is swag, a slang word for "stolen goods."
He asked abruptly: "Where is it?" She made an effort to breathe out: "Where's what?" His tone expressed excited secrecy. "The swag plunder pieces. It's a game of grab. We must have it; but it isn't easy, and so you will have to lend a hand. Come! is it kept in the house?" As often with women, her wits were sharpened by the very terror of the glimpsed menace. She shook her head negatively. "No."
"It is a delicate intimation to Sir Henry Darlington that somebody is on to his little game, and he'll evaporate before dawn." A week later, Holmes brought me a magnificent pearl scarf-pin. "What's that?" I asked. "Your share of the swag," he answered. "I returned the pearl necklace to Bar, LeDuc & Co., with a full statement of how it came into my possession.
The defunct was a young Union labourer, about twenty-five, who had been drowned the previous day while trying to swim some horses across a billabong of the Darling. He was almost a stranger in town, and the fact of his having been a Union man accounted for the funeral. The police found some Union papers in his swag, and called at the General Labourers' Union Office for information about him.
The rest was easy enough. A couple more walked in after, and while one jumped over the counter and bailed up the manager the other shut the door. Nothing strange about that. The door was always shut at three o'clock sharp. Nobody in town would drop to what might be going on inside till the whole thing was over, and the swag ready to be popped into a light trap and cleared off with.
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