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Well, you know, ole Martin, the head boundary man, he's about as nice a varmin as Warrigal Alf; an' the young fellers at the barracks they 'on't corroborate with him, no road; an' he thinks his self a cut above the hut, so he lives with Daddy Montague, in Latham's ole place, down at the fur corner o' the horse-paddick.
"How did you find it?" asked Thompson. "Know Jack Ling at the Boree Paddick, about four mile out there? Well, I worked on his horse-paddick las' night, an' he follered me up this mornin', an' talked summons. Reckoned I'd mos' likely fine company." "One good point about a Chow boundary man," observed Thompson. "So long as you don't interfere with his own paddock, he never makes himself nasty."
"I don't bear them any malice, though they rounded me up twice, and made me fork out each time." "Boolka horse-paddick?" suggested Mosey. "They grabbed us there once, an' it was touch-an'-go another time. But the place is worth a bit o' risk." "No; both times it was on Wo-Winya, on the Deniliquin side," replied Thompson. "First time was about nine years ago.
Magomery's got an edge on you, Thompson you an' Cunningham for workin' on Nosey Alf's horse-paddick, an' for leavin' some gates open. Moriarty, the storekeeper, he told me about it." "Well, we did n't work on Alf's horse-paddock, and we did n't leave any gates open," replied Thompson. "We lost the steers from the ram-paddock, here, and we found them away in the Sedan paddock.
It was sort o' cloudy moonlight that night; an' I takes the carrion straight on, an' shoves 'em in the horse-paddick, an' shuts the gate. Then I fetches 'em into a sort of a holler, where the best grass was, an' I takes the saddle an' bridle off o' the horse, an' lays down, an' watches the carrion wirin' in.
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