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Updated: June 12, 2025
"One fella feel 'em here," said my informant, clasping his stomach. "Run away; tumbledown; finish. 'Nother boy runaway; finish. just now plenty dead everywhere. Some fella sing out all a same bullocky." Possibly this may be greeted as another version of the familiar story of poisoned flour or damper.
Poole, from Gobbernor," the Governor; "Hugomattin," Mr. Eyre; "Merilli," Mr. Scott of Moorundi; "and Bullocky Bob. Papung Gobbernor, Boocolo, Hugomattin." Nothing could stop him, nor would he sit still for a moment.
Ye'll maybe know him Jim Gray; big, slab-sided chap he is, with his nose sorter twisted like, where a y brumby colt kicked him when he was a kid. y good thing for him it was a brumby, or unshod, anyway; he'd a' bin in Queer Street else, I'm thinkin'. Jever meet him down that way? I admitted that I never had, but promised to look out for him. 'Aye, ye might, said the bullocky.
At length, with clumsily affected carelessness, I had to say, 'Oh, just down south a bit from Milton. 'H'm! Port Lawson way, like? suggested the curious bullocky. 'Yes, that's it, I said hurriedly. 'Port Lawson way. 'Ah, well, I've got a brother works in the y saw-mills there.
Me feel 'em fright. Feel 'em cold inside. Too much fright. My word; han' belonga that fella gin cold like anything. That gin say 'Where you from? Me say 'Me come from alonga town. That gin say 'What you look out? Me say 'Me look out bullocky, musser 'em cattle. Tail 'em up. Look out weaner alonga paddick. Plenty hard work. Me dance little bit alonga that gin. Not much. Too fright.
A good husband usually provides his wife with sufficient clothing, he insinuated; but when he heard that further supplies were on the bullock waggons, he apologised, and as he waddled about kept one ear cocked to catch the first sound of the bullock bells. "Bullocky jump four miles," he informed us; from which we inferred that the sound of the bells would travel four miles.
I romped with dogs, climbed trees after birds' nests, drove the bullocks in the dray, under the instructions of Ben, our bullocky, and always accompanied my father when he went swimming in the clear, mountain, shrub-lined stream which ran deep and lone among the weird gullies, thickly carpeted with maidenhair and numberless other species of ferns.
There was an old shanty-keeper up Coonamble way, so Billy said, that used to always mistake him for another bullocky and mistake the other bullocky for him couldn't tell the one from the other no way and he used to have bills against Billy that the other bullock-driver'd run up, and bills against the other that Billy'd run up, and generally got things mixed up in various ways, till Billy wished that one of 'em was dead.
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